Interludes
by DreamSmith AJK
Summary: Post 'Graduation Day', broken, defeated, lying near death, Faith struggles to heal herself. But is Sunnydale General Hospital any safer than the rest of Sunnydale?
1. Chapter 1

May 20, 1999  
3:24 am

Flying, falling, the edge of the rooftop shrinking as it drew away from her. Her hand was wet with warm, slippery blood, fingers pressed tight against her belly to keep her insides from spilling out. She felt the wind rushing past her as she stared upwards, and there was barely enough time to hope that she had timed it right, that the truck would be there, before--

--Impact--

* * * * *

A blaze of white light ripped across her vision, a roar filled her ears; then came the pain. It smashed into her without warning; it was terrible, and it was everywhere. She tried to scream, but she couldn't feel anything through the unending torrent of agony, couldn't see anything but white, couldn't hear herself over the unintelligible clamor inside her head. She struggled to move, to escape whatever was happening to her. Nothing worked, and the torture went on and on, until she passed into merciful darkness.

* * * * *

"--Female, approximately eighteen years of age. Found in the back of a truck, fifteen minutes ago--"

"--Pulse is ninety-five and thready, pupils are unequal and unresponsive--"

"--We have a penetrating wound to the abdomen, and severe head trauma. Okay, let's roll her."

"Wow. Now that is nasty. How deep does this go?"

"Well, since we have a small exit wound low on her back, I'm thinking it's pretty deep. Roll her back over, gently. Type and crossmatch, give me four units of O-Neg, she's bleeding out. We've got to get her stable and then get a head CT. If she's already brain-dead then we're just wasting our time here."

"Respiration is slow and labored, we're going to have to put her on a ventilator. Intubation tray, now!"

She could hear, but she couldn't focus on the words. It was hard to think, and getting harder. Her eyes were open, but all she could see was that featureless white. Everything was hurting, and there were hands on her, doing things that hurt even more. Without warning, something cold and plastic-tasting was forced into her mouth, pushing down into her throat. She gagged, lashing out in a deeply ingrained reflex. She was weak, there was little strength in the blow, but she felt something crunch under her fist, and there was a sudden outburst of curses and shouts.

That one move seemed to have used her up. As the hands grabbed her and forced her arms to her sides, she felt herself spiraling down. Her thoughts ran slower and slower, until finally she stopped.

* * * * *

Cold. Cold and pain. Her entire existence seemed centered around those two things, and there was nothing else to think about, even in those isolated moments when she could think at all. Her head was filled with static; random sounds and sparks of light that meant nothing. She floated there, confused but aware, until something happened inside her. Some random circuit in her brain made a connection, and she could feel again. There was something going on in her belly, and there were people all around her. She couldn't see them, but she knew they were there. A quick stab of fiery pain went through her head, leaving behind an indistinct wash of sounds.

"--give me more suction, here. All right. There's the spleen, and it's ripped to shreds. That'll have to come out."

"Retract this. Okay... we have some lacerations to the kidney, too, but it's not too bad. Amazing how much damage there is in here, considering the size of the wound. This girl is lucky she's survived long enough for us to get her on the table."

"Yeah, lucky for her. We fix all of this, and she gets to live out her life as a vegetable."

"We don't know that. Head wounds are tricky."

"Come on. You saw the CT scan. She doesn't have a chance of recovering.

"I suppose not. It's still our job to keep her alive. Warm saline. Rinse this, let me see if the intestine's been ruptured."

"That's five units of blood in; all O-Neg, too. They couldn't find her blood type."

"Couldn't find it?"

"No. It's an exotic, no match on record. She seems okay with this, though. Forceps."

"Damn, is it me, or is this girl's insides as cold as ice?"

"You too? I thought I was imagining it. My fingers are going numb, it's so cold. Jeannie, check her body temp."

She could feel the cold, now. It was lodged in her middle, draining her of warmth, gnawing at her life. She tried to reach up and see what it was, but her arms were bound. Her panic made her fight all the harder, but the more she tried to move, the less control she seemed to have. Everything was confused, and that sparking haze grew around her thoughts again. Her connection to her body seemed to falter, and from a great distance she felt it begin to spasm wildly.

"Oh, Christ. Convulsions!"

"Again? I thought the ER people gave her lidocane to control that!"

"They did, twice. Hold her down, hold her!"

"Is she conscious?"

"No, no way she could be. It must be a result of the brain bruise; she's just got some crossed wires upstairs."

"Gee, you had to graduate med school to figure that one out?"

"Bite me. Hold her still! Give her another hit of lidocane."

"If she overdoses, Peterson will have our asses."

"Yeah, but if we don't stop her from jumping around, she's gone anyway. Got it in? Good, now keep her still--"

"Damn, but she's strong! All right... there we go. All calmed down now? Hurray. Someone give me a fresh scalpel, please."

* * * * *

Someone.... There was someone next to her, and it was important that she wake up.

"I'm sorry, but it doesn't look good."

No, not that person. That was only some man, not the one she'd sensed. Her eyes wouldn't open, but she knew....

"Explain it to me. How... bad is she?"

There! He was here, the one who would take care of her! She felt relief wash through her just at the sound of his voice. If only she could see him.

"Your... daughter, she was stabbed with a large knife of some kind, and that caused some fairly serious injuries. Her spleen was damaged; we had to remove part of it. Her kidney was torn, and there was massive blood loss, which she was lucky to survive. Frankly, that was the easy part. The head trauma is, well, it may not be something from which she can recover."

"You don't know my Faith, doctor. She'll pull through."

A large, warm hand took hold of hers; squeezing it gently, and she wanted to weep with joy. She had lost, she was hurt, but he forgave her. He still cared for her.

"I'm not sure you understand me. She's taken a massive impact to the head, and her brain is very badly bruised. A bruise swells, and inside the skull there's nowhere for it to go. We're giving her massive doses of steroids, which help control the swelling, but the damage is too severe. Her basic functions might continue indefinitely, but as for the rest.... I'm afraid that there's very little chance of her ever regaining consciousness. I'm very sorry."

Silence then, and she felt a twinge of fear. Not because of the words, she barely understood them, and she didn't have the energy to spare for thinking about what they meant. She was afraid because the hand had let go of hers, and she couldn't speak, couldn't move, to tell him that she was okay. Surely he knew. He knew everything, he'd been around for so long, seen so much. Of course he would understand that she was still here, still his girl. She needed to rest, just for a little while, and then everything would be all right. She wanted so much to leave this cold place and go back to the beautiful home that he had given to her.

She felt his hand caress her brow, the side of her face, and it was infinitely tender.

"It's your day...."

His voice was soft, and it held so much sadness that her need to weep was stronger than ever. But even tears were denied her. He was leaving now. She could feel him moving away, and her cries for him to wait, to stay, didn't make it past her motionless lips. She was a prisoner inside herself, and the walls were closing in. She felt her mind being pushed down, smothered. The glaring whiteness that surrounded her grew slowly darker and darker, until there was nothing left.

* * * * *

6:58 am  
May 20, 1999

The two of them watched as the Mayor moved away from the girl's side. They observed with interest his attack on the Alpha Slayer, and the subsequent confrontation with the souled vampire. After the excitement had passed and the players in that little drama had departed, they turned their attention to the Beta. The man looked down at the girl. Her bruised and battered face was pale, mask-like. The monitors beeped and blinked, but the information displayed meant nothing to him. He glanced at his companion.

"What do you think?"

She scanned the readouts with a practiced eye, and then shook her head.

"It's too early to tell. She seems stable, but she's been out of surgery for less than half an hour. Things could change rapidly, at any time."

He sighed.

"So we can't just take her?"

"No. Not without a very large risk of losing her. I can't imagine being able to convince the staff to let us have her, either. Not in her condition."

He looked unhappy at that, turning to give the recovery area a long look.

"If the sorcerer succeeds, then he will destroy this place. To kill the Alpha, if nothing else."

She was examining the girl more closely, pulling back the sheet to look at the long incisions, now stitched closed. The skin was swollen and crusted with blood, her belly still stained orange with the disinfectant they had used. Small plastic tubes provided drainage for the fluids oozing from her abdominal cavity, but that was a routine measure.

"True, the Summers girl might well die. That wouldn't be a problem for us; we identified her heir over a year ago. No, it's this one who is giving us so much trouble." She reached out a hand, running her fingers along the line of the unconscious girl's jaw. "If we knew where her anima would jump next, we could have removed her months ago. Without that, though... it's too risky. This line is proving much more difficult to track than the Alpha Slayer's. If we eliminate her now, we could lose it entirely. It could take us decades to find it again, and by then it might well have merged once more with the Alpha. Our records of this phenomena are sketchy, as you well know."

He folded his arms, standing beside her and staring down at the helpless girl.

"So you think we should do nothing?"

She nodded.

"No matter what happens today, this one is safe. If he fails, she will be here, waiting for us. Even if the Ascension succeeds, she will still be helpless, and there will be opportunities to either seize her, or eliminate her. In the meantime, I believe we should put some distance between ourselves and this town."

"Agreed. If Sunnydale is still standing this time tomorrow, then we'll make arrangements to keep the girl under surveillance. I'll contact the others and let them know."

The two of them left the room, moving purposefully. In the hallway they passed by a group of people who were speaking to the Alpha Slayer, including the renegade Watcher. Fortunately, all his attention was focused upon the injured girl standing before him, and he failed to recognize the pair as they moved past.

Once outside of the hospital, they quickly made their preparations to depart. There was an excellent chance that this town would no longer exist; a few hours from now, and neither of them had any desire to share its fate.

* * * * *


	2. Chapter 2

Blind.

She was blind, and she couldn't remember why. There was pain, too. Her head was pounding, worse than any headache she'd ever known. Her face hurt, her right hand and wrist, her left shoulder, her back, both knees, even some of her toes hurt.

The strangest part was the shaft of icy cold that had been rammed through her gut and left there, seemingly with the intention of freezing her to death. She had no clear memory of that happening either, but there was a jumbled impression of being face to face with someone... flashes of blonde hair and dark green eyes that were as cold as the thing lodged in her middle. She lost the image, and within moments had forgotten about it entirely.

Pain. Painpainpain. She hurt, a lot, but the worst part was the confusion. Her head didn't seem to be working very well, but it was working well enough for her to realize that it wasn't working very well at all.

She wasn't sure if that made any sense.

It was terrible, not being able to understand what was going on.

Something very bad had happened, of that she was sure. The pain was proof enough of that. Beyond what had happened to her, though, something else was wrong. She needed to be well, to be able to... what? She couldn't remember, though she fought as hard as she could. The fog cleared just a little, and she knew that something important was going to happen, soon, and she needed to be there....

Someone needed her to be there. Who? The pain in her head matched the beat of her heart, the agony coming in a rhythm that made it hard to think, harder to remember. She tried again, but this time she couldn't focus, and suddenly she couldn't even remember what she was struggling to do. She was blind, and she didn't know why.

* * * * *

2:40 pm  
May 22, 1999

"Irrecoverable brain damage. It's a shame, to see something like this happen to such a young person." The chief attending was a round little man, and Doctor Clarita Laidlow had to look down several inches to meet his eyes.

"It's a shame for such a thing to happen to anyone, Doctor Myles." Her cool blue gaze fell on the girl lying so still and helpless on the bed, surrounded by beeping, hissing equipment. "This patient is not more deserving of our pity than anyone else, even if she is young, female, and perhaps attractive, in a way."

The man looked surprised, but that didn't bother her. She took the chart from the foot of the bed, reading rapidly through the information noted there. From behind her there came the sound of a throat clearing.

"Ah, Doctor Laidlow. I'm not familiar with the arrangement that was worked out with the director, but did you really travel all the way to Sunnydale just to work with patients who are in a persistent vegetative state? Surely there must be larger, better equipped facilities where you could pursue your studie--"

"Thank you, Doctor, for your concern. My research requires access to patients that conventional medicine has declared as lost causes. Sunnydale General suits my purposes perfectly, and I promise you," She smoothed back her blonde hair and gave him a reassuring smile. "You'll barely know that I'm here. Besides which, there is the arrangement with your director. He has instructed you to cooperate fully with my study, yes?" Her accent was coming through, and she suppressed the urge to frown in annoyance. The man was nodding reluctantly, obviously not happy with this intruder, this foreigner, being given free run of his department. He frowned at her, and then turned to look again at the girl on the bed. Her face was very pale, made even more so by the stark contrast with the dark hair that streamed over the pillow. He sighed.

"Very well. If there's any possibility that your research could help these poor souls, then it's worthwhile. Though this one won't be here long enough to be part of your study."

Laidlow looked up sharply at that, and the man smiled faintly.

"We've just been informed by her legally-appointed guardians; some law firm, I forget the name, that Miss Wilkens here is to be transferred out of here as soon as her health permits." He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his white coat, looking speculatively at the motionless girl. "It seems that with Mr. Wilkens passing away, she's now quite wealthy, and they want her in a private care facility, not a hospital. I've heard of the place they're going to put her; it's down in Arizona. By all accounts, it's some sort of luxury hotel that comes with a nursing staff and all manner of New Age occultist healers. Shamans and such. Expensive as hell, but apparently the Mayor left word that money was no object."

The woman joined him in looking at the girl. She kept her face expressionless, but her thoughts were racing. There was no way that she would have easy access to the child in such a place, and if they used magic.... Well, they might actually manage to revive her. That could not be allowed to happen, under any circumstances. It was imperative that Faith be kept here.

Doctor Myles had turned to go, but he gave the girl a final look.

"I get so tired of seeing things like this happen, and in this town it never seems to end. Not even eighteen, and she's stabbed and dumped in the back of a truck. What kind of place are we living in?"

Laidlow folded her arms, staring at him coolly.

"Be careful not to become too sentimental, doctor. You don't even know her." She spared the girl a glance, then turned away. "For all we know, she might have deserved what happened to her; she might even have deserved worse."

She had succeeded in shocking him again, and though he tried his best to hide it, his voice was harsh.

"No one could deserve this. Just look at this poor thing. This is a human being, a defenseless girl, and someone tried their damnedest to kill her. Now she'll spend the rest of her life lying in a bed like this one. Whatever your credentials, I'd appreciate you saving your bile for someone who's better able to defend themselves." He was glaring at her, anticipating some kind of heated retort, but she didn't oblige him. After a few seconds of meeting her amused smile, he flushed and quickly left the room.

Clarita Laidlow stood gazing at the patient that had just been given (briefly) into her care, and one delicate eyebrow arched wryly.

"Helpless? Yes. But a human being?"

She drew forth a small cellular telephone, and dialed a number.

* * * * *

She had awakened to find the pain was still there, waiting for her. It was as bad as ever, but she was learning to live with it. It wasn't like she had a choice. After a while, she noticed a couple of interesting things. She was not breathing for herself. Something was inside her throat, pushing air into her and pulling it out at regular intervals. It felt awful; a violation of her body like none she'd ever known.

Memories came back to her, of her childhood, and of the violations she'd suffered then, as a child. In response, the old anger rose up inside her, warming her, and she felt a little stronger. She realized with a start that her brain seemed to be working better, now. She knew who she was, and she remembered what had happened, more or less, but when she tried to move beyond that, to think about 'now', and what to do next, well; she couldn't seem to shift into that gear.

Where was she? She recalled fighting Buffy, losing, falling, and blackness. What had happened after that? Not Angel drinking her dry; no way was she going to go out like that, turned into some kind of vamp lameness. Any idiot could be a vampire, if they were dumb enough to let themselves get turned. But there were only two Slayers, and she was one of them. She was special; she mattered, and she would rather die than go back to what she had been before.

A series of flashes seemed to go off inside her head, and she winced. A moment later a line of razor-edged fire cut a jagged path through her mind, and after it had faded she was left feeling dazed and bewildered. Her head hurt so much; what had happened? She was Faith, the Slayer, and there had been a fight, but where was she...? It hurt to think, hurt to just lie there, but that was all she could do. Without warning, the blackness came and buried her.

* * * * *

The Twisted Man moved slowly down the dimly lit hallway, searching for prey. He had a name, a human name, but when he was like this he didn't use it. That person was someone else, someone who was still a man. Most of the time he could still pass for the human he had once been. It was only when the corruption inside him had been allowed to grow unchecked that he was unable to maintain his harmless appearance.

It was his own fault. He had put it off for too long, this time. As much as he hated what he had become, hated being reminded of it, the darkness could only be denied for so long before it made its presence known. He snarled quietly to himself as he stalked the hospital corridors, the shadows wrapped tight around him like a cloak. Despite the dim lighting, he avoided the areas of the hospital that remained active at night. He needed to find a vessel, a particular type of victim....

Entering a ward on the third floor, he slipped past the nurse's station. The lone woman on duty was sitting at her workstation, staring blearily at the glowing computer screen. Even if she had looked up, it was unlikely that she would have seen anything except a fleeting shadow. The mortal eye tended to slide off of him, when his... condition was manifest.

Inside the first room, he found an older man lying in the bed. He seemed to be in the grip of pneumonia, or some other respitory ailment. Even in his sleep he was wheezing painfully, and the IV bag hanging over his head was labeled as a powerful antibiotic. He leaned over the unconscious man, reaching out one gnarled hand to touch his chest, just over the heart. He found what he was looking for, an aura too damaged to properly defend itself from mystical attack... but he shook his head regretfully. The man was too weak; the foulness that he carried within would kill this victim, and that led to problems he did not care to deal with again.

He tried the next room, but the young woman there was suffering from a pair of broken legs. His touch revealed an aura that was strong and vital, denying him the access he needed. His frustration growing with every failure, he decided to try each of the remaining rooms in the ward. If no one here suited his needs, he would have to go upstairs. He was hesitant to do so; he had resorted to the coma ward too many times of late, and too many unexplained occurrences would lead to someone looking for a cause... or a suspect. Still, he had to do it tonight. There was no choice for him, not since the day, years ago, when he himself had been attacked by a creature as unnatural as he himself was now.

* * * * *

Better, now. There had been several times when she had been conscious, then suddenly... well the lights hadn't gone out, since she still couldn't see, but her brain had stopped like someone had thrown a switch. Even now it was hard to think about the recent past, but it felt like things were finally sorting themselves out, upstairs. Nice to know that the super-healing worked on the old central processing unit, as well as it did on the cuts and broken bones.

Speaking of which....

She was lying on her back, and a lot of things hurt. Okay, that was not surprising, considering what she'd done. What Buffy had done, to her. The important thing to do now, was to get gone. Even through the fuzziness, that thought was clear enough. The blonde Slayer hadn't been trying to capture her, there at the end. She'd looked Faith straight in the eye, and tried to kill her. She would have felt proud of her sister for finally breaking out of her bullshit girl scout code, if it hadn't been herself that had suffered the consequences of the other girl's new outlook.

Her eyes were showing her nothing but a blurry, swimming mass of glaring white, and there was a foul-tasting tube down her throat; neither of which made her happy about her chances of escape from wherever this was.

She groaned in frustration and tried to move, to sit up and feel around.

Bad mistake.

It felt like every joint in her body was screaming at her, and she was abruptly covered in sweat, despite the coolness around her. She held herself rigid until the pain began to ease, allowing her to relax slowly, uncontrollable shudders running through her.

Now what?

That question was rendered moot when everything started to fade on her; again. At least this time she saw it coming. She had enough time to feel depressed that this was still happening to her, and then it all went away.

* * * * *


	3. Chapter 3

10:41 pm  
May 30, 1999

Kira scowled up at the nurse as she finished swallowing the last of the big pills. The woman gave her that fake smile and sickly-sweet voice that all of them used with her.

"There's a good girl! You know you have to take all of your medicine if you want to get better!"

She gave the nurse a dirty look.

"If the medicine was going to make me better, shouldn't I be better? It's been a long time now, and I've been taking all the pills you give me, but I'm still sick."

That made the smile falter, but a moment later it was back.

"Now, don't you worry about that. We're going to keep taking care of you for as long as it takes."

The little girl sat there on the edge of the bed with her legs dangling, and thought about that as the woman picked up her tray of pills and moved towards the door.

"As long as it takes for what?" She asked. The nurse paused for a moment and looked back. There was a strange expression on her face, a sort of weary sadness, but then she forced the smile and answered.

"Well, as long as it takes for you to get well, silly girl!" She nodded towards the pillow lying on the bed. "You go to sleep now. And no wandering around, either!" She was stern now, a genuine look of disapproval replacing the stiff smile. "There are other people here who are sick, and you could catch something from them. That would be very bad."

Kira nodded agreement, but didn't say anything. The nurse turned off the light and pulled the door shut behind her, leaving the room in darkness. She sat there, waiting. She had been in the hospital for a long time now, and whenever she asked her father when she would be able to come home he just shook his head and told her that it would be soon, very soon. He smiled when he said that, and his smiled looked a lot like the fake one the nurses used. That made her think that maybe she wasn't getting better at all. The funny thing was, she really didn't feel that bad. Well, most of the time. She did get sick a lot, now. She had a lot of colds, and there were a lot of times when her head hurt, and she woke up sweating and stuff. Mainly though, it was the pills that made her sick. Almost every time she took them (and they made her take them like, five times a day or something) she got sick to her stomach afterwards, sometimes real bad.

Like now. She put both her hands on her belly and pushed real hard, trying to breath slow and steady through her mouth. If she threw up she would only have to take them again, and they were even worse after she'd barfed up everything else down there. She waited out the worst of it, though it left her feeling all weak and wobbley. By that time, she was pretty sure that the nurses would have changed over to the very late shift, when only one of them was at the desk down the hall. That meant that is was time for her to go out.

She got out of bed and quickly put her feet into her slippers. The floors here were very cold, and besides; sometimes there was icky stuff on the floors that she didn't want to step in. Opening the door just a crack, she peeked outside. It was quiet, and the lights were turned down low. Trying not to make any noise, she snuck down the hallway.

It was pretty easy to keep from being seen when you were so small, and the night nurses were so lazy that they were usually not even at their big desk at the bend in the hallway. Instead, they spent most of the night sitting in the place with the carpeted floors and comfortable chairs and the television. During the day, parents and people would sit there, waiting their turns in the rooms with the sick people. At night, the nurse sat in there and smoked and watched late movies.

Kira walked down the far hallway, which was the one with mostly older people in it. She looked in on all of the rooms she passed, checking to see if anyone new had been brought in since last night. There were not any new faces, and all of the old ones were still there, which made her feel a little better. It was bad when somebody was gone; they almost never came back again, afterwards. Some of them had probably gone to be operated on, or something, but she thought that most of them had died.

This hallway was for people who slept all the time and never woke up, so they couldn't talk to her or anything. That didn't bother her; she liked to just sit and look at them. She would stare at their faces, and look at whatever their family had brought, and then she would try and imagine what they were like when they were awake. What did they sound like when they talked, what color were their eyes? In her made-up version of them, they were always very nice people, who treated everybody good, and never yelled at anyone or made other people cry. Sometimes there were flowers and things in the rooms, and she would smell them and think about when she had still been able to go outside and play with the other kids at her school. If there were a lot of flowers, she would take one, a little one that nobody would miss, and hide it in her room where she could look at it later.

When someone she had sat with went missing, she would go and write their names down in a notebook she had. The rooms always looked so empty, after they had been taken away, with the bed all clean and empty and all the flowers and stuff gone like they had never been there. It was sad, and scary how there was no way to tell that someone had been there. She would look at their names later (though most times the names looked wrong; she could read, but her spelling was not always very good) and she would try and keep a good memory of what they had looked like. It seemed important to her that somebody remember the sleeping people.

At the end of the hall she came to her favorite room. Inside it was dim, but there was a nightlight that gave off a nice glow. The girl laying on the bed was named Melinda (it said so on the get well cards that were on the shelf next to the flowers), and Kira knew for sure that she was a very nice person. She must be, because she had so many people who came to see her. It was a lot harder to sneak down to this room during the day, but Kira tried to do it as much as she could, just to see all of the people who would come visit the nice girl. One of her parents came in almost every day, and she had brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and everybody would sit and talk to her like she was awake and listening. They had brought her things from her room, to make her feel better, too. There were pictures of the girl with her parents and family and things. Mostly, there were pictures of her riding horses. She was smiling in those pictures, and the horses were so big and beautiful that Kira could sit and look at them for hours. Melinda had won things riding horses too. In some of the pictures she was holding a big and shiny trophy, or proudly displaying ribbons with bright gold writing on them.

She stood beside the bed and looked into the girl's face. She looked like she was just resting, but Kira knew better. The older girl had been here almost as long as herself, and she hadn't moved or woken up once. Still, it didn't hurt to be nice.

"Hi Melinda. I hope you're dreaming something good tonight. I wanted to come and play with your horse, if that's okay."

As usual, there was no answer, so she carefully took down one of the toy horses that sat on the table beside the girl's bed. It looked very old, but all of the legs still worked. You could bend each one in three places, and make him look like he was running and everything. She sat down on the far side of the bed from the door, where nobody walking past was likely to see her, and played with the horse. She imagined herself riding him, going somewhere far, far away from cold hospitals and people who lied to you with a stupid smile on their faces. Her horse wouldn't care if she got sick a lot; it would love her no matter what. If her legs were wobbly, it wouldn't matter; the horse would carry her, and its legs would be so strong that it could run forever.

She sat there, holding the horse and wishing very hard that it was real, and it would come for her. She didn't wish to be well; she had done that for a long time and it had never happened. She was pretty sure now that it was never going to happen. If she got the horse though, that would be good enough.

* * * * *

He climbed the stairs slowly, trying not to look at his hand on the railing. It wasn't that he was weak; he wasn't. If anything, he was stronger when he was like this. It wasn't worth the rest of it, though. Not even close. He was ugly, and the vile thing inside of him twisted his body until he was barely recognizable as a man. His gnarled limbs didn't work quite right, and climbing stairs created the very real possibility that he would lose his balance and go tumbling back down. It would only get worse, too, unless he could find someone to help him. And since no one would do what he needed willingly, he would just have to find someone who was not in a position to say no.

* * * * *

Kira froze when she heard the big metal door to the stairs. It had been a quiet sound, not the loud slam it made when someone just shoved it open. Someone was sneaking onto the floor. She stood up and looked across Melinda's bed to the hall. This was the next-to-last room in the hall, and the stairway door was just one room past this one. She couldn't get out of here without whoever it was seeing her, and if they did they might keep her from ever coming back. She looked for a place to hide. Under the bed was no good, they would see her as soon as they came in. The only good place was in the bathroom, so she hurried inside, careful to keep her slippers from making a scuffing sound on the floor. Inside, she hid behind the door. It was really dark in there, and she didn't think anyone could see her if she peeked through the crack where the hinges were.

A person edged into view, standing in the doorway to the room and looking inside. At least, Kira thought they were looking in; it was hard to see the person, even with her eyes used to the dark and the nightlight to help. It was like she was looking at a black cut-out of a person, and there was no face or anything there to see. The person moved into the room, and a chill ran up her spine, making her shiver. They didn't walk right. They lurched like one leg was longer than the other one and neither one worked right. It (she decided that it was an it, not a him or a her) went to the bed, standing over Melinda and looking down at her with that blank shadow face.

Kira hugged the plastic horse to her chest as hard as she could, staring out into the room. She wanted to yell at the thing to leave the sleeping girl alone, but she was really scared, and her mouth didn't want to open. When it reached out an arm, she saw that its hand was as twisted and messed-up as the rest of it, but it didn't hit Melinda like she had been afraid it would. It just put its hand on her chest, and stood there.

"Damn.... She's too weak, but I can't wait any longer."

The voice that came from the thing was all whispery and raspy, and it sounded like she thought a big bug might sound, if it could talk. She was wondering what it had meant, when she saw it start. Shadowy... things, started running down the monster's arm. It looked almost like black water moving, but there were shapes there too, like mice, or rats, or lots and lots of bugs. She watched as the nasty stuff reached the place where it's hand was on Melinda's chest, and she almost whimpered out loud when she saw them pass through the sheet like it wasn't there, and vanish inside the sleeping girl.

For the first time, she saw Melinda move. Her body started to shudder, like she was fighting against what was happening to her, even though she wasn't awake to see what it was. Her mouth opened and she gave a sort of gasping sob that brought tears to Kira's eyes.

She wanted to help Melinda, she really did! But... she was only a little girl; she couldn't stop a monster. She backed away from the crack beside the door and climbed into the bathtub, hunching down low to hide. She didn't want the monster to get her, she didn't want it to put the shadowy things inside of her. She closed her eyes and clutched the horse tight, wishing for it to come right now, and carry her away from this awful place where there were monsters.

* * * * *

He drew himself up taller as the corruption flowed out of him and into the girl in the bed. His limbs straightened, his skin smoothed. Even in her coma, the girl opened her mouth, letting out first a whimper, then a louder cry. He clamped his other hand over her mouth, and held it there until the flow of darkness slowed, and then came to a stop. Releasing her, he stepped back. She was paler than she had been a few moments before, and she was sweating profusely. He shook his head and sighed. This one had been too far gone; what he had just done would likely kill her. Not that he minded that, especially, it was just that he hated leaving a trail of bodies behind. Too many, and he would have to leave here and find yet another hospital. Patients like these were the best prey he had been able to find, but he preferred the stronger ones, they could survive what he did, though they usually suffered some permanent damage. The ones that died, they were messy. Especially the one in ten or so that rose afterwards, to become like him; carriers for the dark infection that was even now slowly growing inside him yet again. A week, at most two, and he would have to cleanse himself yet again.

For now, though, he felt fine. Better than fine, actually.

He felt positively... human.

* * * * *

Kira heard the stairway door open, then close, and only then did she open her eyes and look up. The bathroom was dark, and very quiet. It hadn't found her. It still took a long time before she felt brave enough to stand up and climb out of the bathtub, then look out into the room.

The monster was gone. She walked slowly to the bed, afraid to look at the girl laying there, but finally she had to. Melinda looked okay, just a little sweaty and stuff. She smiled in relief and reached out to touch her on the hand. The older girl's skin was hot, really hot, and it felt kind of funny. It was almost like the flesh under the skin was... squishier than it should be. Kira took her hand back and looked at the still face. She looked okay, really. She would be okay.

"Melinda, I'm sorry I didn't do anything." She looked down at the horse she still held. "It was scary, though. And it didn't do anything bad to you, I think. You're just getting a bad cold. I get those all the time." She cleared her throat and looked up again. Was there a bad smell? She sniffed, and wrinkled her nose. People who slept for a long time usually didn't smell real good, because other people had to clean them, but this was the worst thing she had ever smelled. She backed away from the bed. "I have to go, now. They'll clean you up in the morning, when the real nurses come to work. If it's okay, I'm gonna borrow the horse, okay?" She hated to do that, but she was afraid the monster might come back for her. If she had the horse to hold onto, it might be easier to get to sleep. She hoped.

"Goodnight. I'll see you tomorrow night.

Kira slipped quietly into the hall and back to her room. The horse really did help, though she felt like a baby for having to have a toy to sleep with. The dreams of the black thing were bad, but she didn't cry. The last year had shown her that crying didn't help.

The next night she went to take the horse back to Melinda, but the room was empty.

* * * * *


	4. Chapter 4

Things were clearer, the next time she came up out of the darkness.

The pain was still there, it seemed like it had always been there, but she was getting better at pushing it into the background. Her head didn't seem to be hurting nearly as much, now, and that was a Very Good Thing. She took a quick inventory. Still no vision, but she wasn't worried about that. Given time, she could heal anything. The worst part was that if someone came after her now, she would be dead meat. Bad, but what could she do? Wherever she was must be safe enough; otherwise she wouldn't still be alive. The tube was still down her throat, but she was breathing on her own, which was at least some improvement. Her ears seemed to be working, too. She could hear a steady beeping, faint voices from some distance off, even the hum that was always there when electronic equipment was nearby.

Where was this? Had Mayor Wilkens found her and taken her somewhere? It was possible.... No, if it were he, then she wouldn't be surrounded by machines. He was a sorcerer, and a powerful one. He would have used magick to heal her, and she would already be up and around. Wait a minute; Mayor Wilkens, and magick. That thought sparked something way in the back of her mind, but her abused brain was slow to respond. There was something that she knew, and it was connected to--

There was the sound of someone moving, right beside her. She started to tense, but managed to stop before she did more than twitch. Damn, her hearing was still messed up, or she would have heard them the second she came awake. Whoever it was had stopped at her feet. There was a rattle, then a faint rustle. And another. A scratching sound, and then the rattle again. They moved up to stand at her left side, and firm, impersonal fingers touched her arm. She held herself still as they touched something that was attached to her, and didn't flinch even when a twinge of pain informed her that there was something impaling her through that arm, just below her elbow. The fingers brushed her hair back from her forehead, lightly touching one of the spots there that throbbed in time with her heartbeat. She heard a sigh.

"Well, how is sleeping beauty today? I see the bruises are fading, and in record time." The fingers raised first one eyelid, then the other. She couldn't see anything, could barely feel her face at all. For the first time she realized that parts of her body were strangely numb. Either she had really been messed up in the fall, or her brain wasn't as fully healed as she had thought. The stranger's fingers were turning her head slightly from side to side, and they spoke again, seemingly to themselves. Herself; it was a woman's voice.

"I wish they had let me keep the EEG; I would love to see if your brain activity has increased." The Slayer wondered if that EEG-thing would show that she was awake, and listening. Probably. "You're breathing fine without the ventilator; which has doubtless impressed the pathetic healers of Sunnydale General to no end. Keep this up and I'll be hailed as a miracle-worker." A sheet was pulled back, and she could barely make out a light touch on her belly. "Hm. Still getting some drainage, but that's not unusual. Except perhaps for you."

Faith frowned mentally. Who was this woman? Not anyone she'd ever met before, though her voice had a faint trace of something that raised her hackles. The sheet was replaced, and a long silence stretched out, broken only by the sound of the bedside equipment. She didn't hear the woman leave, and her hearing was only working at human level; she wasn't able to hear everything around her like she was accustomed to doing. In this case, though, that was unnecessary. She knew the woman was there, she could feel the eyes resting on her face. A long minute passed, and finally the sense of a watching presence faded, and she heard the sound of footsteps moving away. She was alone.

Carefully, she shifted in the bed, seeing if she could at least sit up. Her midsection sent sharp jabs of pain through her at the slightest excuse, so she tried to raise herself up on her elbows. A strange sensation caught her attention, and she reached across with her right hand to feel her left arm. There was a tube in it, and tape around her forearm to hold it in place. She felt the sheets beneath her fingers, heard the faint murmurs of voices from the hall outside her room.

Duh. She was in the hospital. Even through the remnants of cotton filling her skull, she felt disgusted at herself to having taken so long to figure it out. Whoever had found her after the fall had brought her here.

Faith lay there for a while, thinking. She was in the hospital, Sunnydale General hospital, the woman had said, which was in Sunnydale. Wait a minute.... Something was wrong with that picture. What day was today? If it was the same day that she had been hurt, then today was the Ascension. After the Ascension, there would BE no more Sunnydale. The Mayor would level it, feeding on the people, using the power he gained to open a gate to a demon dimension. He would let them pour through and gorge themselves on the locals, thus repaying them for their assistance in his transformation. Then they would return through the gate, since true demons could no longer exist indefinitely on Earth. That would leave Faith as her boss's agent in the mortal world, with him coming in occasionally to visit. He had promised her power, and money, and the chance to kick ass to her heart's content. Which would be nice, she had to admit. But what she really wanted was the sense of purpose that he gave her life. The knowledge that someone knew her, valued her... cared about her. And he did, she KNEW that he did. He had never lied to her, not even once.

But she was in a bed, in the hospital, in Sunnydale. She had lost track of time, but it felt like a lot longer than a few hours. It might have been days since she had been hurt, and the Ascension HAD to have happened by now.

Sunnydale was still here. Which naturally led to the conclusion that something had gone wrong.

Faith swallowed, but the lump in her throat remained.

Buffy had been what had gone wrong. Had to be. Which meant that Richard Wilkens was dead. Faith had not been there to help him, and Buffy had shown up with her god dammed friends, and done their little slayer and the slayerettes thing, and the only person who had ever cared for her was dead.

Because she hadn't been there.

Faith did not cry, ever. It was a weak, stupid thing to do, and she had not let herself do it for a long, long while. She cried now. She couldn't help it, and there was no one to see her anyway, not even herself. Tears flowing from her unseeing eyes, she wept as quietly as she could, fresh pain stabbing through her torn middle with each sob. That was fine, she deserved to be hurt. Because, in the end, he hadn't failed her; she had failed him. She hadn't been smart enough, or strong enough, or good enough. Not when it counted, not against Buffy.

Faith lay there in the hospital bed, in Sunnydale, alone.

Crying.

* * * * *

12:09 pm  
June 1, 1999

The man sat on his couch, watching the evening news. An attractive lady newscaster was staring out of the television screen, reciting the latest happenings in the usually placid town of Sunnydale. Placid on the surface, at least. Until recently, the most powerful man in the area had taken steps to prevent the truth about the town, and the dangers associated with it, from coming to light.

That man was gone now, and Rupert Giles sat a bit straighter as the scene shifted to show a young girl lying motionless in a hospital bed.

"-Nearly two weeks after the destruction of Sunnydale High, the revelations continue. Despite the failure to identify his remains, Mayor Richard Wilkens has been declared dead, and the legal documents filed by his attorneys have led to the surprise announcement that he had an adopted daughter. Faith Wilkens, a young woman with no discernible past, was adopted by the Mayor, in secret, just over one month ago. All of his considerable fortune has been willed to this mystery girl, but it is increasingly unlikely that she will ever have the chance to enjoy it. Early on the morning of May twentieth, just twelve hours before her adopted father's death, Faith was the victim of a vicious attack that left her perilously near death. The surgeons at Sunnydale General did their best, and managed to save her life, but she remains in a coma, and Doctors there say that it is unlikely that she will ever recover.

However, even though she is not aware of it, this young woman is now a player in a scandal that may reach every part of this small town's government. Evidence has surfaced that the former Mayor may have been involved in a wide range of illicit activities while in office. An anonymous tip has led investigators to several anomalies in Richard Wilkens's financial records, and several members of the town council have been implicated in what may be a scheme, orchestrated by the Mayor, to control land development in the Sunnydale area. With Wilkens dead, people are stepping forward and revealing to police that they have long been victims of blackmail and extortion by both him and others."

Giles nodded thoughtfully. He supposed that if Faith had not been incapacitated, then none of those individuals would have had the courage to step forward. It seemed that she had been serving as the sorcerer's chief enforcer, as well as his personal assassin. He smiled faintly. At least some good had come of Buffy's confrontation with the rogue Slayer. She had not said anything to him, but it was clear that she was feeling a measure of guilt and depression over what she had done to the younger girl. Watching her punish herself over something that had been so manifestly necessary was painful to him, but seeing the Mayor's careful plans collapse so completely was eminently satisfying.

"So what does all of this mean for the girl lying here? Well, with the several million dollars in cash and assets that Wilkens had left to her now frozen pending a full investigation, plans to transfer her to a private care facility have been put on hold. It may be weeks, possibly months, before all the facts are known, and until they are, Faith Wilkens will remain a guest of Sunnydale General. If the Mayor's mysterious daughter does wake from her coma, it is certain that police will be keen to question her about the schemes of the late Richard Wilkens. You can rest assured that there are many people who will be watching Faith's progress closely."

The newswoman continued on with another story, but Giles was no longer listening. There were beings in and around Sunnydale who knew what Faith was, and now.... Now they knew where she could be found, and that she was utterly helpless. He removed his glasses and wiped his hand across his face, staring at the shelves of magical implements on the far side of the room.

"Crap."

* * * * *

She faded back in, slowly this time.

Still lying on her back, still had a tube in her arm and a bigger one that went in one nostril and then down her throat. That one was really irritating, and made her mouth taste faintly of vomit. She wondered what had been going on while she was out. How much time had passed? She had no way of knowing. Opening her eyes, she had blink rapidly to clear the crusty gunk that seemed to fill them. It was dark, but she made the shift that brought her nightvision up, and the room came into focus. A hospital room, obviously. Television hanging from the wall, empty chair to her left, open door beyond showing a little of the hallway. To her right, a pair of windows looked out into the night. She grinned with relief, realizing that she was able to see again, finally.

Slayer healing; love it, love it, love it.

When she turned her head to look around, her face and neck still hurt, but not as badly as they had. Everything else still hurt too; it looked like they weren't wasting any painkillers on her. No big deal, part of the Slayer package was the ability to shut out pain. Mostly. Her belly was still killing her.

She surprised herself with a giggle, and then hissed as the moment strained the wound. 'Killing her' was just what the knife in her stomach had been supposed to do. But she was too tough for that.

Barely.

Still, the searing cold that filled the wound worried her. That was no ordinary knife that she had been stabbed with. Buffy couldn't have picked a more lethal weapon to use in their showdown. Faith concentrated, and managed to move her right arm, clumsily, to put her hand over the injury. It was covered with bandages, of course, but even through the material she could feel the cold radiating from it. She wondered what the doctors thought of it, or if they had even noticed. It didn't matter what they thought, not really. They couldn't save her from the magic that was still lodged inside her, that was still trying to kill her. She would have to help herself; there was no one else to do it for her. Just like always.

She moved her thoughts farther back in her mind, pulling away from the outside world, focusing on her body. Her eyes closed, and her breathing grew slower, deeper. Her pulse quickened slightly, and her body temperature began to rise. She concentrated, making the changes in the energy flows that moved through her, feeling the movement of blood follow in its turn. Faith smiled grimly, though her lips barely twitched. Buffy didn't know everything; she had learned a few tricks of her own, these last few months. She'd had to, to survive the things she had done, the enemies she had fought. Now she would gear all the resources of her flesh to healing the wound that was still trying to destroy her, and all of the Slayer energies that she could gather would be directed at defeating the knot of ice that was gnawing at the cord of her life.

When she had the new rhythms in place, and stabilized, she relaxed her concentration slightly. The darkness was calling her again, and the processes she had set in motion had exhausted her. She drifted, waiting to heal.

It would take time.

She had time.

* * * * *

3:41 pm  
June 1, 1999

Giles entered the room slowly, his eyes never leaving the girl lying unconscious on the bed. Behind him, the nurse had stopped in the doorway, watching. The former Watcher stood for several moments, looking down at the girl, before speaking.

"Can you tell me anything about her chances for recovery?" He glanced over his shoulder in time to see the woman grimace.

"Sir.... It's difficult to say. All we know is that the head injury was severe, your niece's brain was badly damaged... and there seemed to be very little activity there." She put a sympathetic expression on her face, but she'd obviously gone through all of this many times before, and was only going through the motions. "I'm very sorry."

He nodded.

"Thank you. Would you please leave us?"

The nurse withdrew with obvious relief, and he looked down at the bundle of flowers he had brought with him as part of his 'visiting relative' disguise. With a sigh he tossed them onto the bedside table and slipped the strap of the carry bag from his shoulder. He'd been prepared to tell the nurse that it contained his laptop computer, but she had not asked. Carefully not looking at Faith, he removed his coat and laid it across the back of the single chair. The room was a single-occupant, fortunately, and its position at the extreme end of the hallway gave it even more privacy. He took a moment to pull the door closed, then moved to begin removing his equipment from the bag.

This would not take long, but it was critical that he not be disturbed.

* * * * *

Giles finished the recitation and lowered his arms. He was no natural magician; his workings relied on tried and proven formula and ritual. Still, he had been practicing for over two decades now, and he could cast a warding with the best of them. Moving briskly, he extinguished the smoldering herbs, fanning the residual smoke out of the open window before closing it. A square of silk on the table held a small Amethyst crystal, which was glowing faintly. He picked it up and stood looking around the room. He had no intention of coming back here on a regular basis to reinforce the protections, so he had anchored the defensive spells to the gemstone. The power within it would maintain the barrier for several months, if necessary. The only question was, where to hide it?

He wandered around for a few moments, considering then discarding several possible choices. Ultimately he crouched and wedged it firmly into a cranny underneath the frame of the bed. Straightening, he glanced away from Faith's motionless form. He had been careful to avoid looking in her direction since that first moment when he had entered the room, and he kept his eyes fixed on the floor as he quickly tucked his magical paraphernalia back into the shoulder bag. When everything was hidden away, he stood.

There, it was done. The girl was as safe from supernatural attackers as he could manage; now he could leave. He picked up the flowers from where they lay on the table, turning them slowly in his hands, thinking.

"I didn't do this for you, you know." He spoke softly, never looking at the girl who lay there, so still and quiet. "I'm not protecting you; you've given me ample proof that you neither want, nor deserve my aid. No, this is to safeguard the life of the girl who would become the Slayer, were you to die. It's a terrible burden, and I'm no longer as certain as I once was that using a young girl in this manner is justifiable. Besides which, you've shown me just how dangerous an unscrupulous Slayer can be."

He stared out of the window at the bright afternoon sunshine.

"Also, though it would be a kind of justice for a vampire or demon to devour you, I'll not allow one of them to use the power that resides within your body for their own purposes."

He stood there for a minute or two, sorting through his thoughts. Obviously the girl could not hear him, but he wanted to clarify things for himself. The person lying here, the evil that she had done, was at least partly due to his failure to properly guide her. He harbored no illusions that she herself was blameless; far from it. Faith had made her own choices, had decided her own fate, but at the same time....

"It's for Buffy." He considered that, nodding slowly as he followed that line of reasoning. "I'm preserving your life so that she's spared any further pain. She's suffered quite enough because of you, and you'll not add to her trials by dying."

He gave in and turned to look at her. Her pale face still showed faint signs of bruising from either the fight or the fall. Buffy had only spoken of those events once, describing her confrontation with the younger girl in a few terse sentences. Her anguish over what she had been forced to do was heart wrenching to someone who looked upon her as a daughter, and he had never asked her to elaborate on that night.

"I do not wish you dead, despite your crimes. But neither can I bring myself to wish you well."

She didn't look like a heartless murderer, lying there. She looked almost childlike, innocent. He knew better.

"It would be best for everyone if you simply remain as you are." He sighed, looking down at the flowers he still held. Moving slowly, he set them back down on the stand beside the bed. "I pray your dreams are happier than was your life, child of darkness."

He turned away and left that place without looking back.

* * * * *


	5. Chapter 5

9:27 pm  
June 1, 1999

Clarita Laidlow opened the door to her hotel room, only to find three people waiting for her. Her heart jumped for a moment before she recognized them, and she sighed as she closed the door behind her.

"A phone call to warn me you were coming would have been welcome."

The older of the men was standing with his hands in his pockets, a pensive smile tugging at his lips.

"Forgive us for startling you, Clarita. Our flight arrived less than an hour ago, and when we called the hospital you had already left." He gestured to the two people who were sitting silently on the couch. "James you already know," The trim black man flashed her a smile, using one finger to push his gold wire-frame glasses higher on his nose. "And this is Janice Reardon, one of our promising young recruits."

The woman stood and extended a hand, which Clarita took. Janice was a small woman, and she barely looked to be twenty. With her slender frame, pale skin and bright red hair, she could have looked cute, even pixyish. Her expression prevented that. Her face was a mask, showing no trace of her thoughts or emotions. Her eyes were strangely dark, given the coloring of her face and hair, with the iris so nearly black that it blended with her pupils to give her gaze a disconcerting alienness. She realized that it wasn't just the young woman's appearance that was disturbing her. There was a feeling that she exuded, an almost subliminal chill that she had felt before. Clarita took her hand back as quickly as she could without revealing her sudden unease.

"You're a sorceress?" Her voice had risen just a fraction, and she felt her face warm with embarrassment. Janice gave a minute nod, those eyes never leaving her, seeming to take in every detail. She didn't speak, and it was the older man who answered.

"Not just any sorceress, but one of the best I've ever seen. We're no longer relying on people who are born into families with a Watcher tradition, as you know. We've been actively searching for candidates who meet our needs, and who feel as we do, that the supernatural threats to humanity must be sought out and fought in a proactive fashion."

Clarita waved her hand in dismissal as she crossed the room and sat down in the overstuffed chair.

"I know all of that already. I agree with your move to change some of the outdated traditions, that's why I agreed to come here." She looked from one to the other. "I'm just surprised to see you, of all people, here in America. Wouldn't the other Elders think it odd that you traveled all the way here just to check on things? That's what people like James are for." She quirked an eyebrow at the other man to ease any offense he might take from her words, but he remained perfectly composed, at least on the surface. She knew him to be an extremely dangerous man when the need arose, but few would guess that from his normally tranquil demeanor.

Ian had smiled at her comment, using one large hand to smooth back his steel-gray hair.

"Perhaps they would find it strange. Doubtless they attribute my breaking of yet another convention to my 'recklessness and utter disrespect of tradition'. Meaning, on occasion I actually get off of my ass and do something, rather than letting one Watcher and his Slayer do the work of safeguarding human civilization." He frowned then, staring down at the carpeting. "Those fossils are why I've come, actually."

Clarita looked at him closely.

"Have they decided? Will they allow us to remove the Beta from here and take her back to England? She's stable enough now to bear the journey, if that's what you wanted to--"

He cut her off.

"No, that's not why I've come." He sighed heavily. "They've denied my request to take custody of her. They want her to remain here, 'until the situation becomes clearer'." He mimicked the quavering voice of a much older man, then looked at her, his pale blue eyes suddenly very serious. "I believe that they are afraid. Afraid that by bringing a Slayer to the Manor, they will themselves become a target. They are willing to fight the war from the sidelines, but they do not want to take the field themselves."

James spoke for the first time, his normally mellow voice now holding an edge of scorn.

"Sidelines my ass. They'd rather be in the nosebleed seats, or watching it live on the telly, from their easy chair at home."

Ian shrugged.

"Be that as it may, we do not have their permission to take her away. So she must remain here, in Sunnydale."

Clarita was struggling to gather her thoughts after this sudden change of their long-laid plans.

"But--She's helpless here, easy prey for any creature that wants an exotic meal!" She stood and paced across the room to the small bar. After pouring herself a stiff drink, she took a deep breath and turned again to face the others. "Frankly, I'm amazed she's gone this long without being attacked. Either the monster population of this area has been grossly exaggerated, or they're so terrified of her that they don't dare come near her even when she's in a coma."

The council Elder nodded in agreement, and indicated the young woman who still stood there, staring. Clarita suddenly wondered if Janice had blinked even once since they had been introduced.

"That's where our young sorceress comes in. She will accompany you to the hospital tomorrow and put protections in place to prevent any demon or vampire from ending our disobedient Slayer's life. Unfortunately, that will not stop anyone human, so we will need someone to remain here and keep an eye on her until we can locate her heir." His eyes were steady upon her, and she clutched her glass tightly as she realized what he was asking of her.

"Ian, no. Please, you can't mean that you want me to stay?"

"I'm afraid so. You are the only one of us who has the credentials to move freely about the hospital, and you can remain her physician of record, which will allow you to watch for any anomalies in her condition. If she shows any sign at all of recovery--"

The anger that had half-formed inside her turned to resignation. Still, she tried to argue her way free.

"I can't stay here indefinitely. I have a life back in England, my practice--"

"Will still be there waiting for you when you return." He stepped up to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "We need you to do this; I need you to do it." He held her gaze with his own, and she felt the strength of his conviction reaching out to gently smother her last protests. "This is our one chance to seize control of a Slayer, to train her up in a way that isn't a dusty tradition that was archaic when gunpowder came to Europe. We can make the Watchers mean something again; we can break free of those fools who think of it as a country club with some quaint mythology behind it. But to do that we have to keep the girl safe until we know where the next Slayer in her line may be found. We're all counting on you, Clarita."

She didn't trust her voice, so she looked away and nodded silently.

* * * * *

Sounds tumbled over her. They had pattern, structure, meaning. She needed to wake up, this could be important.

Faith woke, but remained still. Her breathing never faltered, her face remained a mask, even when someone pried open her eyelid and shone a light into her eye. They were still a little messed up, and unless she concentrated, they didn't respond at all to the light. That was probably for the best, with guys like this peering into them all the time. She saw the brightness from his penlight, but her vision was unfocused. That meant that she couldn't really see the man who was examining her, but it didn't matter what he looked like. She listened to what he was saying, instead.

"Pupils are unequal and unreactive, which is consistent with axonal brain injury. She has been removed from the ventilator and is breathing on her own, which shows that there has been some adjustment and compensation. However, the patient has now been a vegetative state for thirteen days, and there is still no sign of cognitive function."

Faith mulled that over. Thirteen days? She had really misjudged the passage of time, then. Not that it mattered, much.

"Now, this is where it gets interesting. Look here."

The sheets were pulled away from her, and she felt cool air flow over her breasts, her stomach. She was naked, seemed like. She hoped the perv was getting a good look. His fingers prodded her belly, and fresh pain lanced from the wound there. It took most of her control to keep from backhanding him away from her. Well, and the fact that she didn't even know if she could manage that kind of move yet, let alone fight.

"See? This is what concerned us, after it was established that the head trauma was not going to interfere with her basic functions." More prodding, more pain. There was a rustling around her feet; someone coughed. There were several people standing down there, looking at her. She suppressed the urge to sigh. "The damage here was severe, but it was repairable. The surgical team did an excellent job with it. Now, it's typical for there to be drainage from this kind of wound, that's why we have the tubes in place. Abdominal injuries are prone to infection, and this patient had massive damage to several organs. Normally we would have to be very observant for signs that things were turning septic. However, as you can see, there no drainage, no sign of even the slightest infection, but the incision is not healing. In fact, there seems to be some necrosis of the surrounding tissue. No infection, no decay, but by any indication we can see, the flesh surrounding this wound is dead." He paused, and she supposed he was giving his audience some kind of knowing look. He sounded like the kind of person who would enjoy that. "Any ideas on what the cause of this could be?" There was an awkward silence, until finally someone cleared their throat.

"Um. Could it be a problem with her clotting factors? She could be anemic, and her healing so slow that it hasn't made any headway yet. Did anyone run a check on--"

"No, not clotting factors, not anemia." The man seemed happy to be able to slap down the woman who had spoken. "We did check, and her platelet count is excellent. A bit high, actually, and her hemoglobin is also high, incredibly so. Her rate of oxygen transport must be amazing." His tone became even more condescending. "And of course, if either of those had been the cause, then all of these other lacerations should also have been displaying similar problems, yes?"

More silence, then:

"Well, is she diabetic? That could prolong the healing process too, give the same sort of symptoms--"

"No, not diabetic, either." Yep, he enjoyed it. What an asshole. And he still had his hand on her stomach, which was really starting to piss her off. "The truth is, we're not sure what the problem was. We spent seven days putting blood into this girl--and she has the damnedest exotic blood type the lab boys have ever seen--only to see it drip back out of this wound. Her other injuries were showing signs of healing, but the tissue here--" He prodded her *again*. Dammit, did he WANT to hurt her? "--has simply refused to knit. There has been no sign of regeneration at all, and she was losing blood steadily. Until, that is, four days ago. At that point, something changed." His hand withdrew, and the sound of rustling paper came from just beside her. "She suddenly began running a temperature, which is currently at one-hundred and two degrees. Her pulse had been steady at thirty-two beats per minute, which is absurdly low, even for an athlete. However, as her fever developed, her pulse rate also increased, until it reached ninety per minute. Where it has remained, for the last four days. And as you can see--" That almost proprietary touch again. "There is no longer any bleeding. No healing, either, but at least she's no longer leaking like a sieve." She felt several of them leaning over to look.

He was right, sort of. She contemplated her body's condition, using internal senses that gave her a much better picture of what was going on than any instruments the doctors had available. Things could be better, but they could be a lot worse, too. She was fighting a battle against the damage the knife had done, and against the malignant power it had left inside her. The flesh around the wound wasn't really dead, but it wasn't very lively, either. She was sure that she would be able to drive out the icy magic soon, and after that her usual healing speed should kick in, but in the meantime she was having to claw for every inch of ground. She was going to win, eventually, but it was costing her.

"We're still not sure what caused the fever to flare up, since there has been no sign of infection. Despite all we can do, there's no clue we can find as to what is happening inside this girl; all of the cultures we've done have come back negative. Just to be safe, we've begun an aggressive course of intravenous antibiotics, but these have failed to have any effect."

True, except to give her yet more to deal with. She was having to divert much-needed resources to neutralize all the crap they were dumping into her. Speaking of which.... Ugh. So that's what that was. They had a whatchamacallit, a catheter, up inside her. There was probably a bag of pee hanging off the side of the bed. That was embarrassing in a way that mere nudity could never be.

"Dr. Lemay," A younger man this time. "Was she this underweight when she was admitted? I mean, I can count her ribs."

Faith could picture the frown on Lemay's face. How dare someone ask *him* a question?

"In fact, she has been on constant intravenous fluids, in an attempt to keep her hydrated, and since her GI tract was not injured, we have been feeding her via a stomach tube. True, she had been losing a bit of weight during the first week, but that's not uncommon for coma patients. It's only in the last day or two that we've seen this rapid decline, despite doubling up on the IV's and her caloric intake. I believe that the injury may have in some way damaged the portion of her brainstem that regulates her metabolism, causing it to accelerate to this abnormal level. Yet another mystery presented to us by this patient." Wow, he could really peg the pompous-meter, couldn't he? Finally he pulled the sheet back over her, and led the rest of them out into the hall, still going on and on about how much they had to learn. Faith stayed where she was, thinking. Her body naturally ran faster than a human being's; it had to. All the extra abilities that came with being a Slayer didn't come free of charge. If she were just lying here, she would probably be able to survive on what they were giving her through the tubes. But she wasn't just lying here. She was healing massive, nearly fatal injuries, and healing them with inhuman speed and thoroughness. That was why her temperature and heart rate were high; they were driving the repair systems at full-strength. But if she kept that up for much longer, she might succeed in starving herself to death. Which would kind of defeat the purpose of the whole process.

She had to slow things down. Looking inside herself again, she made up her mind. The minor things were half-healed anyway; what still needed to be done with them could wait. The big one in her gut was still practically untouched, and the knife's magic was weakening, but still resisting her every effort. That could not be ignored.

She began making the changes; throttling back her body's energies; shutting down everything that was not critical and diverting everything she could to deal with the stomach wound. Her pulse slowed abruptly, and her temperature began to fall. Maybe they would stop trying to 'cure' the infection if she were cooler. That would be helpful.

In the back of her mind, she was actually grateful for all the problems she had to deal with. It kept her occupied, kept her from thinking about what would happen to her now. About what she was going to do about Buffy. Because she was going to do something about Buffy, eventually.

Wasn't she?

Not something she had to worry about right now, that was certain. She finished the changes, and pulled back to watch for a while. It looked good, but it would be awhile before things got done this way. No big deal. She didn't have anywhere else she needed to be.

She relaxed, letting her mind follow her body down into the lower activity levels. This would be a longer one, she knew. It was actually sort of restful, all this quiet time. For so long she had been driven, every minute, every day. And it had only gotten her put here. It might be a good thing to just rest for a while.

She gave a gentle sigh, and slipped into the waiting darkness.

* * * * *


	6. Chapter 6

10:16 am  
June 2, 1999

Clarita was not happy. It had been one thing to fly here from her home in London, using her rather impressive credentials (and the Council's influence) to dazzle the staff of this drab little clinic. There had even been a sense of adventure; her first real assignment since joining the ranks of the Watchers, over a decade earlier. She had secretly delighted in being able to help the cause into which Ian had recruited her all those years ago.

A week or two of minor excitement had been one thing; the prospect of months of tedium, standing watch over a brain-dead shell was something altogether different.

She took care to let none of her resentment show as she led the sorceress down the wide corridor that housed Sunnydale General's most hopeless cases. This Janice girl continued to unnerve her, and she was a woman who prided herself on her unshakable composure. Perhaps the reason why lay in her distrust of anything that even hinted of magic. She was a doctor after all. Her profession was based on rational scientific principles, cause and effect; chemistry and physics. The notion that someone could wave their hands, chant in some obscure language, and change the physical universe made a mockery of everything she knew. Magic. It would have been laughable, if not for the fact that it was real. She had seen it work.

They reached the room that held the comatose Slayer, and she walked inside. She had just taken the chart from the foot of the bed when she heard an indrawn breath from behind her. Turning, she looked at the younger woman. Janice was standing in the doorway, her arms raised in front of her. She was moving her hands in slow circles; her head cocked slightly to one side and a look of annoyance on her pretty face. She looked for all the world as if she were a mime who had found herself blocked by an invisible wall.

"What are you doing?" Clarita tried not to let her dislike show; it wasn't like the other woman had actually done anything to merit such treatment. Nothing other than being what she was. The sorceress didn't answer immediately. The movements of her hands slowed, her fingers undulating fluidly, almost like she was insinuating them into small cracks in that invisible wall.

"Someone has been here before us. Another sorcerer." Her voice was soft, distracted. Her eyes seemed to be focused on something invisible to the woman doctor, but their strange coloring made it difficult to be sure. After a few moments Janice smiled. "A good effort. Meticulous, though it lacks any imagination whatsoever." She moved slightly to her left, placing her hands together in front of her. With a whispered phrase that Clarita could not make out, she moved her hands apart as if she were parting a curtain. There was a faint ripple in the doorway, and the sorceress stepped through into the room.

The doctor's eyes widened slightly.

"There was a spell on the door?" God, she had just walked through it. What if it had gone off and done something; changed her somehow? "Who put it there?"

"The rogue Watcher, I would think. And; it is not a spell, it is a warding." The red-haired girl walked slowly up to the bed where the Slayer lay, her tone implying that any moderately intelligent person would have known the difference without having to ask. Clarita bristled slightly. She was unused to being spoken to like that. Usually she was the one issuing the condescending remarks, and she realized that she did not appreciate being on the receiving end of one. The sorceress ignored her, looking down at the motionless girl on the bed. The doctor moved to the other side, sparing the Slayer only a brief glance before looking up into the other woman's face. It took her a moment to identify the expression there, and when she did a chill rippled through her. It was hunger.

"Just look at her...." Her voice was a faint whisper, barely audible over the monitoring equipment. She reached out to touch that pale, still face with reverent fingers. "I've been told, but I never imagined she would be so beautiful." Clarita got the distinct impression that the younger woman was not speaking of Faith's physical appearance, but she refused to admit to her ignorance.

"All right, we're here, and sooner or later someone will wonder who you are. Were you going to do your spell?"

Those dark, unearthly eyes rose to meet hers, and the sorceress smiled faintly.

"No need to be so anxious, doctor Laidlow. No one will even remember that I was here." She looked down again, and her fingers trailed over the unconscious girl's features in a gentle caress. "You must take good care of our Faith, until the time when she is no longer needed. Such power should not go to waste."

The way she said that made Clarita uneasy.

"Go to waste?"

Janice nodded dreamily, not looking up.

"Yes. There are rituals that require such power as this to be spilled into them; else they will steal the life of the one who dares perform them. The life-force of a Slayer... there are beings who would grant much in exchange for such a gift."

This was moving into areas that she did not want to know about. She didn't, but....

"Are you saying that you plan to... sacrifice this girl?"

The younger woman smiled again, but the eyes she turned upon Clarita were empty black pools.

"You know that eventually she must die, so that Ian's plan may come about. The manner of her death matters little to him, and he has agreed to give her to me." Her smile widened, showing small, perfect teeth. "Did you think that I would do this without some sort of reward?"

Clarita took an involuntary step backwards. Yes, she had known that the girl lying there between them would die. She could live with that; it wasn't like she was experiencing a good quality of life now anyway. She was a murderer, a psychopath, responsible for at least a dozen deaths and probably many more. A quick, merciful ending was one thing, ritual sacrifice of a helpless victim was quite another. What had Ian been thinking? They were supposed to be combating evil. How could this be called anything but.... She would speak to him, tomorrow, before he returned to England. She was certain that he could find some other... payment for his pet spell caster.

The younger woman had finally torn herself away from the Slayer's side, turning to examine the room. She seemed to be looking for something.

"I'll build on what he's already done; no sense in duplicating effort." She turned her head and gave Clarita an amused look. "There is no reason you have to stay and watch, doctor. I can tell that magic unsettles you."

The older woman had indeed seen enough.

"It so happens that I do have something that needs attending to. I'll be back shortly." She was still holding the chart, but she couldn't remember so much as glancing at it. Replacing it on its hook, she turned and walked out the door. She very carefully did not hurry. She was not running away, she was going to attend to other matters, as she had said. From the room behind her came the faint sound of chanting, but she didn't try to hear what was being said.

She really didn't want to know.

* * * * *

1:35 pm  
July 9, 1999

"Daddy!"

Kira jumped up from where she had been sitting and reading by the window in her hospital room. Her father had just walked through the door, a medium-sized cardboard box held in his hands. He smiled at her as she ran across the room and hugged him tight. She could only reach as high as waist, and he lifted the box up out of the way and tucked it under one arm, using his free hand to muss her hair.

"Hello there punkin. How are you feeling?"

The truth was, she was not feeling very well at all, but she decided not to say that. If she pretended that she was all better, then maybe this time....

"I feel much better; I'm good. Can I come home with you today?"

Kira's stepmother Sonja had come in behind her father, glancing around uneasily like she usually did. Her light blonde hair and pale blue eyes made her look like she was faded; not quite real, somehow. She was pretty though, in a mean, older-woman way. Her father looked uncomfortable, glancing from the box he held to the woman standing just inside the door. The pale woman smiled down at her with a look that combined impatience and pity.

"Now, Kira, none of that talk. You have to stay here till you're well. This is the place where they take care of people like you." She noticed again how the pale woman stayed several feet away her, and the bed, and anything else that might have germs on it. Her father didn't seem like he was going to pick her up and hold her, so she let go of him and took a step back. The familiar sadness filled her, but she tried not to let it show. He used to pick her up and carry her all the time, but that was before. Now, well, he said that she was too big to pick up anymore; that he had hurt his back at work.

Kira tried very hard to make herself believe him when he said things like that.

"Sweetheart, I'll ask the doctors what they think about it." He kept his eyes on the box he was holding, not looking at her standing in front of him. "If the medicine is working better, then we'll see." Behind him, Sonja shot him a fierce look, her mouth looking like she had tasted something sour. He brightened then, looking at Kira and showing her what he was holding. "In the meantime, though, look what I brought! Your Playstation!"

He looked so determined to make her happy, so obviously hopeful that she would forget about asking to go home, that she had to smile and pretend that everything was okay. While he pulled out the cables and started looking at the back of the television on the wall, Sonja was edging towards the door.

"I'm going to get a soda, can I get you two anything?"

She always did that. Just a couple of minutes after they arrived, Sonja would go to get something to drink. Kira told her what she wanted, her father said he was fine, and she left quickly. There were vending machines in a little room next to the nurse's station, but for some reason the woman liked to go to the one on the ground floor. It usually took her a half-hour or so to get back, too, but Kira didn't mind.

While her father finished plugging in the game, she looked in the box at the games he had brought. Most of them were silly kiddie games, where you planted seeds in a garden and took care of them till they grew, or where you played a man who herded sheep, and they had numbers or letters on their backs that let you learn how to spell or count. When Sonja had come to live at their house, a few months before Kira had gotten sick, the woman had been horrified at the games that she and her father had liked to play. Their favorites had been the adventure games, where you played a warrior who traveled around a magical world, fighting monsters and solving puzzles. Kira had handled the fighting part, and her father had done the puzzle parts. Some of those games took weeks to finish, and her best memories of home (since she couldn't remember her mother) were of sitting on his lap in front of the television, talking about the clues they had found, and where they thought the story was going to lead. She had learned a lot from those cartoony-heros and their adventures. She learned to be brave; to never give up, and not to lie unless telling the truth was something that would get you killed.

Sonja hated those games. She said they were too violent for a girl Kira's age, and that they would 'hinder her development and cause her serious emotional damage'. She had thrown them all out, and gotten these educational ones instead. Her two kids, Donnie and Tracy, were a year older than Kira was, and they were both whiny and bratty, and neither one of them could read as well as Kira could, so the educational books and games didn't seem to be working too well for them. When she pointed that out to Sonja all she got was a lecture, and a warning to watch her 'attitude'.

Her father sat down on the bed beside her, and when he saw her expression he grinned.

"Something the matter?"

She shrugged, trying to muster some enthusiasm for 'Sesame Street Funtime'. He leaned over and dug into the box, and a moment later he produced a CD case emblazoned with Japanese-style artwork. Kira felt her eyes widen as she recognized the title.

"Xenogears?!"

He nodded, looking delighted at her squeal of joy.

"Yep. By the same guys who did Final Fantasy. This one has giant combat mecha that your characters climb into and fight in, plus a lot of magic and a big world to explore. I saw a demo at the toy store and thought you might like it."

"Like it? I love it. Can we play some now?" She realized she was hopping up and down, so she stopped. She wasn't a baby, anymore. This was wonderful, though. If he was willing to do something like this, something he knew Sonja wouldn't like, then maybe she really could go home soon. Maybe even today, if the doctor said she was better.

He dropped the disc into the console, and the opening animation came onto the screen.

In the month since she had seen the scary man make Melinda get sick and die, she had barely left her room. It was quiet on this floor, even during the day, and at night it was nearly deserted. That had been okay with her, before. It had meant that she could walk around and explore without anyone being likely to see her and make her stop. Now, though, every shadow she saw made her think of the twisted-looking man. She had a very strong feeling that he would come back one night; that sooner or later he would find Kira, and make her die. The hospital had turned into a much scarier place, but there was only one person who could get her out.

The first time her Daddy had come to visit her after that night, all she could do was beg him to take her home. She had cried a lot; she could still remember the awful look on his face, and the way Sonja had been asking for someone to bring a shot to make her calm down. They hadn't stayed very long at all, and then there had been two weekends when they hadn't come to see her. Right now was her best chance to tell him what was wrong, but she was afraid. She knew her father loved her, but it seemed like since she had got sick that he loved Sonja more. If the woman didn't want him to bring Kira home then she would probably be staying here forever, where the dark thing could find her. She had thought of something that might let her leave here without making him pick between Kira and the pale woman.

"Dad?"

The game had started, and she had automatically begun using the controller buttons to scroll through the beginning scene. The little guy on the screen was having a flashback about a big battle he had been in.

"What is it?"

He was looking at her kind of carefully, like he was afraid that she would start screaming and crying again. She wasn't going to do that; she didn't want him to have to leave, just because she was a little baby.

"I was just thinking. I know Sonja doesn't want me to come and live at home anymore--"

"Sweetheart, she wants no such--"

She hurried on, trying to keep him from getting mad at her.

"No, it's okay, really. She just doesn't want to catch what I have, and she doesn't want Tracy or Donnie to get it either. I understand."

He stared up at the screen and didn't say anything. The hero in the game had finished remembering the big battle, and he woken up inside a house in a village. She started walking him around to see what was there. Taking a deep breath, she went on.

"If it would be better, I wouldn't have to live with you. I could go live at grandma's house. I don't think she would mind, and I'd be really careful not to do anything that would let her get my germs. I wouldn't drink milk out of the carton or anything."

Her mom's mother was a really nice old lady, though she lived so far away that Kira didn't see her very often. She snuck a look at her father, hoping that he was at least thinking about it. She was surprised to see him sitting with his eyes closed and tears running out from under his eyelids. He was shaking a little, too, and that scared her. Daddy was very strong; the only other time she had seen him cry was when they had first brought her to stay at the hospital.

"Dad?"

She set down the controller and crawled down to the other end of the bed where he was sitting. She knew that he didn't like to hug her anymore, so she just knelt there beside him, unsure of what to do.

"Could we just call her and ask if it would be okay? I promise I wouldn't be any trouble."

He just shook his head, still crying without making a sound. She sat down again, not quite touching him, and looked up at the television. Her little man was standing patiently in the middle of the village, waiting for her to tell him what to do.

She wished that she knew what to tell him.

* * * * *

A little while later Kira had gone back to playing the game, mostly to give her father a chance to stop crying without her watching him. Guys didn't like it when people saw them crying. Her little man in the game was apparently supposed to find someone or something in this stupid village, but she couldn't concentrate on what she was doing. Beside her, Sam cleared his throat.

"You can't leave the hospital sweetheart. You're sicker than you think you are, and if you leave here then it'll only get worse."

She nodded silently. It was interesting how you could rotate the view to see all sides of the buildings and stuff, but that meant that you had to be really careful that you didn't miss something hidden.

"I love you, kiddo. You do know that, don't you?"

She nodded, staring fixedly at the television. He sighed, but whatever else he was going to say was interrupted by Sonja walking into the room. The woman glanced at the screen, but the little man was just walking around every structure in the village, making sure nothing important was behind one. Kira held her hand out for her drink, but Sonja set it down on the bedside table. She didn't like getting too close to the bad Kira-germs.

"So, the nurses tell me that you haven't been wandering the halls late at night, anymore." She had a false cheerfulness in her voice that made Kira's teeth hurt. "I'm very glad that you've been behaving yourself like a good girl."

One of the villager people told her that a wise man lived up in the mountains above the town, so she started her guy walking in that direction. Turning her head slightly, she answered.

"That's because there's a monster living in the hospital, and it kills people at night. I have to hide or it's going to get me, too." Now that she knew that they were not going to let her get out of here, it didn't matter what they thought of her. Her father gave a strained laugh, like he thought she was joking. The woman kept that bright, fake smile on her face, looking at the girl like she was crazy. Her father patted her on the shoulder.

"Now, Kira. You don't have to be afraid. Remember, your cousin Brian told us that there was a monster living here when he was so sick last year, but a girl came and killed it before it could hurt him. I'm sure that was the only one, so you're perfectly safe."

She thought about that for a minute.

"You're right; I had forgot about that. I should have believed him when he told me about what happened." She turned away from the television and looked at the two of them. Sonja was already looking like she was ready to go, which meant that they would be leaving in just a minute. They would go back to where she had used to live, to their other kids, and she would still be here, with the monster. She suddenly felt awful. Her head was stuffed up, and there was a sneeze building in her nose. She let it come, turning her head a little so that she was facing the woman.

The sneeze was explosive, and she made sure not to hold any of it back. Sonja gave a little shriek, jumping back and snatching her hand up to stare at it. Kira wiped her nose on her sleeve and gave the pale woman an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, did I get spit on you?"

With a look of horror, the woman ran into the bathroom. The sounds of water running and frantic scrubbing soon followed. Her father gave her a stern look.

"You should be more careful, Kira. You could make someone else sick doing that."

She shrugged, looking down at her hands. He stood up, looking around the room at her things.

"Is there anything else you need? More books, maybe?"

"No thank you." He didn't understand. All she needed was for him to love her, to be her dad again. She didn't know why he didn't want her around, anymore, but she supposed that it wasn't anything she could change. He had a different family, now. Her mother had died, and he had found someone to take her place. Kira had gotten sick, and now he had another little girl, and a boy too. He didn't need her anymore. She wasn't going to cry, not this time. She slid off of the bed and went to hug him goodbye. For just one more time, she wanted him to pick her up and hold her like he had used to, but he didn't. He caught her by the shoulders before she could reach him. When she looked up into his face, he looked sad, and tired.

"We're going to leave now, honey. Try and rest, and we'll see you next week." He squeezed her shoulders, and then let her go. She stood there, looking up at him, and she felt all awful and empty inside. Her stuffed-up head was hurting more now, and she rubbed at her nose.

"Okay dad. Bye."

Sonja came out of the bathroom, a sullen, angry look on her face. Without a word, she took Sam by the arm and dragged him out of the room. Kira went to find something to blow her nose, wondering which one of the two kids had gotten her old room at home.

* * * * *


	7. Chapter 7

...And she was back, pulling herself up, bit by bit, into full awareness. She lay still for a long time, getting used to the notion that she was back in the land of the waking, again. She wiggled her fingers, clenched and unclenched her toes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Everything seemed to be in its proper place; nothing was hurting, much.

She opened her eyes. Blackness, shifting to shades of blue and grey as her nightvision responded. A faint lance of pain went through her skull, and she lay still, waiting. A few breaths later it faded away without a trace. She turned her head to look around, grimacing because of the tube someone had run down one nostril and left there. A different room, now. A bit smaller, but laid out like pretty much any hospital room. She was still in a private one, she noticed. Well, that was nice of them. She dropped her head back to the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

Now what? She was more or less recovered from her injuries now, so what was she going to do next?

She had no idea.

Actually, that wasn't quite true. She knew of at least one thing that would not wait another minute. She was going to get out of this bed. She struggled to sit up, groaning as another wave of dizziness hit her. Damn, just when she thought her head was all better... though this seemed more like all the blood leaving her brain than actual damage-type pain. Nothing wanted to work quite right; every movement seemed sluggish, clumsy. She tried to raise a hand to touch the nose tube and managed to hit herself in the face with her palm, painfully hard.

"Ow! Shit...."

Her voice was a hoarse whisper, and she was wracked by a brief fit of coughing. Grabbing hold of the plastic tube, she pulled on it. A foot or so came out, and it was still in there. Where the hell did this thing go? Her eyes watered fiercely, and an awful burning feeling filled the front of her head. She hadn't felt that sensation since the time she had gotten drunk and thrown up through her nose. Another slow pull brought the end of the tube out, and she threw it away, rubbing at her nostrils. Great, her nose was running like a faucet.

She became aware of some discomfort in her arm, and she raised it to look. An IV tube was taped securely to her forearm, the end vanishing under a gauze pad near the bend of her elbow. Frowning, she brought her left hand over to pluck awkwardly at the tape, only to feel another tug from that arm. There was another tube on that side. She sighed. It took some maneuvering, but she eventually managed to get both of the needles out. Big needles, was her thought as she sat watching blood trickle from the wounds. A long minute passed before that bleeding slowed, and then reluctantly stopped. Not a good sign, that. Her healing powers should close up little holes like those in just a couple of seconds. Nearly instantly, on a good day. Obviously this day was not so good.

"Not much better than a human being, right now. Fuck." Her voice was still rough and painful, but it made her feel better to hear herself. She noticed something else, too. She was rank. Not just a little, either. Her hair was oily and nasty, her whole body felt grungy. And the situation underneath the sheets... she raised them and took a peek, but the smell made her gag. Maybe the super-senses were not always a good thing. Surely it wasn't as bad as it seemed, or people walking by in the hallway would be complaining about the stink.

She swung her feet to one side and sat on the edge of the bed for a while, breathing deeply. She wondered idly how long it had been. Leaning over, she took the clipboard off the hook at the foot of the bed. She had to bring the sensitivity of her eyes way up to read it in the darkness. Blah, blah, doctor-speak, blah, blah, blood pressure, a few unpronounceable medicine names, blah, blah.... Ah, here it was. Today's gibberish was dated July twenty-first. That would make it... sixty-three days since she was stabbed. Well. No wonder she was a little stiff. She hung the chart back on its hook and looked around the room, at the little stand beside her that held a telephone, and a barf dish. No flowers, or balloons, or cards, or candy. Nothing. It looked like visitor overcrowding had not been a problem. She stared at the floor in front of her feet and rubbed at her watering eyes. She had gunk in them, or something. After a moment, she put her hands on the bed to either side and pushed herself upright. She stumbled forward a step or two, but there was only an instant of panic before she regained her balance. Her legs felt a bit wobbly, but they did what she told them with only a little fuss. Her hair had spilled forward over her shoulders, and she pushed it back irritably. It was longer than it had been, and it definitely smelled bad. Weren't there supposed to be nurses or something to keep you clean when you couldn't do it yourself? She couldn't stand feeling like this for another minute. Whatever people might think of her; psycho, slut, or loser, she had standards. Being clean was important to her.

She walked carefully to the door. Leaning through, she looked out into the hallway. The lighting was dimmed, the silence disturbed only by distant murmurs and the faint beeps and hisses of medical equipment. Hers seemed to be the last room in the hall. To her left was a heavy door leading to the emergency stairs, to her right, the hallway stretched off quite a ways before taking a turn to the right. No one was in sight, and no voices came from any of the other rooms nearby. She pulled back inside and shut the door. She carefully made her way into the bathroom, and shut that door as well. When she flipped on the lights, she winced, clapping her hand over her eyes. They were too slow in responding to the brighter light, and her hypersensitive nightvision mode had gotten blasted. She leaned on the sink, blinking away tears and waiting for the spots to fade. When things had cleared, she looked up at herself in the mirror.

She had looked better. Her face was okay, and any cuts, bumps or bruises she had suffered were healed, but she was way underweight. Her eyes looked huge, her features gaunt. She stepped back and looked at her body. More of the same. Her arms and legs were painfully thin, and every one of her ribs was plain to see. She had lost thirty pounds, maybe more. Her hands were drawn to the hollow of her stomach. The scar tissue there was still plain to see, the ragged, shiny lines stretching the skin taut. She ran her fingers over it for a while, wondering if this one would fade like all the others. Maybe not; that was one mean knife that had gone through her. No one else could have taken that kind of damage and lived through it. Well, maybe just one other person; the girl who had done it to her.

"Stop it. I'm here; alive and kickin'. That's all that matters."

Clean; she wanted to be clean. Moving carefully, she got into the shower, slid the curtain closed and turned on the water. The hot water was the most wonderful thing she had ever felt in her life. Closing her eyes, she turned slowly in place, letting the spray hit her on every side. She hadn't realized how cold she was until that moment. Once the chill had been driven out of her body, she opened her eyes and investigated the little shelf built into the wall. The bathroom came stocked with soap and shampoo, though she doubted that anyone had expected her to ever use them. She scrubbed herself clean with soap and washcloth, and then she got started on her hair. It was a tangled mess; so dirty that it had nearly become dreadlocks. It took some effort, but she was eventually able to work through the snarls and start using the shampoo. She even gave in, just this one time, and actually lathered, rinsed, and repeated.

She felt better now, but also very tired. Rather than trying to make it back to the smelly bed, she eased herself down until she was sitting in the tub, the hot water falling on her like fierce rain.

What now? She was awake, and able to move around some. Where should she go? Her apartment would be long gone; it had been months since she had been there. There were some people (and some things) that she had met while working for Mayor Wilkens, but they wouldn't help her unless she could force them into it, especially now that he wasn't around to back up her demands. In fact, right now they would probably see her as prey, not an ally. She was too weak to chance a meeting with any vampires or demons, and that wouldn't change without some more recovery time, along with some serious exercise.

So, nowhere to go and no one she dared contact. Peachy. She supposed that this was one of those drawbacks to working the dark side that everyone had been telling her about. Well, screw them. All of them. She was fine; she was going to get out of here and get her life going again, and she didn't need anyone's help to do it. She'd been alone before she came to this town; she'd lived on the street for half her life. She knew how to take care of herself. She didn't need anyone to do it for her. She could handle being alone again. No problem.

"It's gonna be all right, it's gonna be okay, it's gonna be all right, it's gonna be okay, it's gonna be all right...."

She sat there for a little while, repeating that over and over to herself, trying to make herself believe it.

* * * * *

When Faith realized that she was in real danger of nodding off while sitting in the shower, she climbed awkwardly to her feet and turned off the water. The spray had never grown cold, and she sighed with the feeling of being warm all the way through. Her apartment had never run out of hot water either. Much better than that crappy hotel room, where every shower had been a race to finish before the water tried to turn you into ice.

There were two towels hanging on the rack, and she used them both to dry herself as thoroughly as possible. Piling the used soap and empty mini-bottles of shampoo in one of the towels, she walked back out into her room. She felt much better now that she was clean, but found that her knees were rapidly growing weak, and her head was feeling fuzzy and thick. She leaned against the window for support.

"Whoa." Her voice was a bit stronger, now. Not that there was anyone to hear except herself. "Worn out from taking a shower. Pretty pathetic, Faith." She opened the window and looked out. The hospital building was about five stories tall, and she was on the top floor. Craning her head, she could see the edge of the roof only a few feet over her head. Good. She balled up both towels, the evidence of her late-night activities wrapped in the center. Leaning out, she tossed the towels up in a hook shot that carried them onto the roof. She pulled back inside and closed the window. There. Even if someone found them up there, they were not likely to connect them with her. She padded across the cold floor, her bare feet scuffing along the tile. Opening the door, she peered out into the hall. No one around. Leaving it open, she returned to the bed and sat down, her legs trembling slightly from all the exercise. Combing her fingers through her still-damp hair, she pondered the next step in her master plan.

Waiting. She was going to have to wait a little while longer. She could maybe walk out of the hospital; she was recovered enough for that. But fighting? Forget it; anything could take her in her current condition. Besides, Buffy was out there somewhere. She shivered, one hand going to her belly. For whatever reason, the other Slayer had left her alive. Either that, or the white-hat gang didn't know where she was.... No, they knew. They just didn't care, because they thought she was a veggie for life. That made this the best place to rest up and get her head together. Where was she going to go when she got around to leaving? She wasn't sure. Well, there was time to think it over. Time was something she had plenty of.

Laying down, she pulled the sheets up to her chin. She supposed that if she really wanted to fool the hospital people, she should put the IV needles back in her arms and the tube back up her nose, but she wasn't up for that. Let them try and figure it out, she decided. The residents of Sunnydale had never impressed her with their perceptiveness, anyway.

She closed her eyes, and within moments she found herself drifting.

Later, she thought muzzily. She would figure something out later.

* * * * *

12:59 pm  
July 24, 1999

Kira crouched down low beside the nurse's desk as the two that were on duty drank their coffee.

"--Heard that doctor Jennings lost another one last night. Some man who was on life-support, waiting for a heart transplant. They were sure he was stable, but he just suddenly crashed when nobody was looking. Steve told me that there was some kind of freak necrosis of his tissue, like he was dissolving inside his skin, right there in the ICU."

The other nurse made a sound of disgust.

"Ugh. I've heard of that happening. In fact, just a few weeks ago one of the coma patients did the exact same thing. Some of the lab people are whispering that it's a new strain of Ebola."

"Get out of here!" The first woman sounded like she wanted to laugh, but there was an edge of fear in her voice too. "Ebola in Sunnydale? Fat chance. Rumors like that will get us shut down in a hurry, so don't go spreading it around. Still, you can bet that I'm going to double-glove before I touch any of these people. I really think that it's probably--"

Kira eased past them and into the far hallway without being seen. They didn't know what was happening, none of them did. She shivered as she remembered the monster leaning over Melinda. It was still here, in the hospital, and nobody but her had seen it. It was scary to be out of her room; it might be able to find her out here. She couldn't help it; she was going crazy from being cooped up in there. She'd read all of her books twice, and played her Playstation until she got stuck in a really stupid part of the game. She had to walk around a little. She was also worried about the sleeping people out here. They were so helpless; they couldn't see the monster coming, and they couldn't run away even if they did.

She checked each of the rooms in the hallway, making sure that everyone was still where they had been. Weeks and weeks had passed since she had last been brave enough to come and look at them, but they were all still there. She couldn't bring herself to go into Melinda's room, so she edged past it and down to the last one, down at the end of the hall. The door was open, which meant that there was someone in there. She slipped into the room, giving a little squeak as a jolt went through her. She looked around, wondering what it had been. It had almost felt like a zap of static electricity, right as she had come through the door. It hadn't hurt, exactly, but it had been strange. She didn't see anything, and the feeling had faded while she'd been looking around. There was a girl in the bed, little bars of sunlight from between the window shades falling across her motionless form.

She was pretty. Kira walked up to stand next to the bed, staring into her face. Her skin was very pale, like most of the sleeping people, but on her it looked right. Her nearly black hair was long and straight, and seemed cleaner than was usual for someone who had been here a while. She must be new here, the girl thought. The nurses on this floor were awful about taking care of people. They were supposed to keep everyone clean (well, as clean as they could), and move them around every couple of hours to make sure they didn't get sores from lying in one spot too long. They almost never did all of that as often as they should have; leastways not the ones who worked up here. There were only one or two good nurses on the fifth floor, and they mostly worked mornings. The other ones just sat around and talked. Sometimes when they were bored they would do some stuff, but not any more than they absolutely had to. This girl in the bed would probably get ignored a lot, since she was way down at the end of the hall. Kira hoped that she wouldn't get bad sores or anything, even if she was sleeping and couldn't feel them.

She looked around the room curiously. It was empty, really empty. There weren't any flowers or cards or pictures or anything. The person's family almost always brought stuff, probably just to make themselves feel better about not being able to help the sick person. This was the first time she had seen someone who didn't have anything at all. The little girl walked over to look inside the small closet. Nothing in there; the sleeping girl didn't even have her old clothes or a pair of shoes from when she was still able to be awake. She went to look at the chart that was hanging on the foot of the bed. She was good at reading, but nobody could read all the doctor-talk on those papers. She could read the name, though.

"Faith." She considered that name for a minute, then looked at the girl's face again. "Hi Faith. I'm Kira. Can I sit here for awhile?" As always, there was no answer from the sleeping person, but that was actually comforting. She could pretend that things were like they had been before she had seen the dark monster. Sitting in the chair beside the bed, she swung her legs and looked at the girl. She tried to imagine what kind of person Faith would be, if she were awake. Strong, for one thing. Even laying there all thin and pale, she looked like she could be strong; maybe even strong enough to fight the monster. She was lonely, though. She must be; she didn't have any family or friends to bring her things. That was okay, Kira could be her friend. Faith would fight the monster and kill it before it could hurt anyone else, just like one of the heroes in her video game. Then they could leave the hospital and go live somewhere far away from Sonja and her bratty kids. She would miss her dad, but it would be better for him if he didn't have to make himself come and see her. It only made him sad to see her sick, anyway. Faith would be her big sister ('cause she wasn't old enough to be someone's mom, and Kira had a real mom already, even if she was dead) and they could eat pizza every day never go to school.

She smiled at that, looking down at her swinging feet. She wouldn't ever have to go to school even if she stayed here, she knew that now. She was sick; and they didn't think she was going to get better. The nurses talked about the people on the floor when they thought no one was listening, and they had said some things about Kira herself. She didn't know what 'white cell count' or 'drug resistance' meant, but they had been pretty clear on how bad she was. She had just turned six years old a while back, and they didn't think she would make it to seven. It was hard to think about something like that happening to her, but she didn't have much of anything else to do with her time. The funny thing was, it didn't really scare her. Maybe it was being around all the sleeping people, but dying didn't seem that bad.

So long as the monster didn't get her, that is. She didn't want to get killed by something, that was scary. She looked up at Faith again, and froze.

The other girl's eyes were open, and she was looking straight at Kira. Those eyes were dark, and there was a look in them of watchfulness, or sadness, maybe. Her mouth quirked into a faint smile and then she spoke.

"Hey there. Who're you?"

This was too strange; sleeping people never woke up, never in all the time she had been in the hospital. It was like a dead person had started talking to her. With a gasp she leapt to her feet and ran from the room as fast as her legs would carry her.

* * * * *

Faith blinked, looking at the door through which the kid had run. Well, that had been... odd. She closed her eyes and lay there, checking the condition of her body. Still run down, though not quite as badly. She was doing something more like real sleeping, now, instead of falling into short comas. This was better; it actually seemed to be helping her recover. Not that she could really improve a lot without more food than they were shoving down this damn tube, but she wasn't quite ready to get up again. Next time. Right now, more sleep sounded good. She drifted off, wondering why she had been dreaming about that little girl even before she had woken up to find her sitting beside the bed. Something about... horses? The kid had been sitting on one, and loving it, but she had been scared too, screaming something that the Slayer hadn't been able to hear.

Huh. Must still have some head trauma going on there, Faith. Sleep it off, get stronger then get gone.

Gone....

* * * * *


	8. Chapter 8

9:02 am  
July 30, 1999

Clarita sat in the third floor lounge, staring at the stack of paperwork without really seeing it. July thirtieth. Over two months here, and no end in sight. Her exciting mission for the activist faction of the Council had turned into an interminable exile. Not that she was performing the duties that Ian had assigned her. It had been over a week since she had even been up to see the girl. She couldn't bear to look at her lying there, not when she knew the fate that awaited the comatose Slayer. Instead, she had thrown herself into the role of a visiting surgeon. The staff of Sunnydale general had been almost pathetically grateful for any help she could give them. For a town with such a serene appearance, there were an appalling number of violent crimes and serious injuries. Doing the work she had trained for, saving lives, helped Clarita Laidlow forget what was going to happen to the defenseless girl who slept upstairs.

She would have to go check on her after this shift, if only to ensure that those lazy nurses were taking proper care of her. She and the lazy cows had already had more than one shouting match over their failure to tend to Faith properly. If the child hadn't been a Slayer, she likely would have died from neglect by now. The traitorous thought entered her mind that perhaps such a death would be kinder than the one in store for the girl. Clarita brushed that aside. The death of one Slayer was required for the next to be called forth. Faith's death would serve the greater good, would ultimately save countless lives, perhaps the very world itself. Did the manner of that death really matter?

She concentrated on doing the paperwork, but the image of a sleeping, vulnerable face continued to haunt her.

* * * * *

Faith sat in the open window, staring out over Sunnydale, watching the rain fall. Her latest sleep period had only been a few days long; barely a nap, really. When she had awoke, she had again been forced to remove tube from her nose and the IV's from her arms. At least this time, the bleeding had been brief. Evidence, perhaps, that her Slayer healing powers were slowly recovering from their long struggle to keep her alive. Since she didn't want to stain anything in her weakened condition, she was keeping her physical abilities and metabolism throttled way back. Even so, she had been feeling almost energetic after getting out of bed this time, and had gone on a brief exploration of her new home. She had no clothes, so she had draped the covering sheet from her bed around her gaunt body, holding it shut in front with her hands. The hallway outside her room had an even dozen rooms opening off of it, and she had shuffled quietly from door to door, peering into each. Of the rooms, half were private, the others holding two beds apiece. All of the patients seemed to be like her; in comas, or near-enough not to matter. Several of them were very old, and had a lost, hopeless look to them. They impression they gave, that they were just being stored here until death came for them, had made Faith shiver, and move on quickly. Around the turning of the wide corridor was a nurse's station. When she eased her head around to look, she found it unattended. Puzzled at this, she had walked slowly past the elevators and down the other hall. More rooms, though all of these were doubles. Most of them, strangely, were occupied by children. Like the adult patients, all of them seemed bedridden and lethargic. At the far end of the second hallway she found a visitor's lounge, and, she supposed, the nurse that had been absent from the desk. The woman was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs with her back to the doorway, watching an infomercial on the large television. Faith had watched for a few moments, then shrugged and turned away. Lacking anything better to do, she had poked her head into the various closets and storage rooms. In one of them she had found stacks of old newspapers. She didn't know if they were being kept for some purpose, or if the staff was simply too lazy to throw them out, but she had quickly dropped to her knees and begun sorting through them. A brief search had yielded several dated from months earlier; just after graduation, and she had brought them back to her room to read.

Now, nearly an hour later, she sat perched on the windowsill. It was mid-morning, she had decided. The sun was invisible behind heavy grey clouds, but the traffic visible on nearby streets, and the activity of the people below, had a morning feel. Occasional drops of rain blew in to spatter her, and gusts of damp wind lifted her long hair, occasionally swirling strands of it across her face. She ignored it, staring outwards.

She remained there, unmoving, for a long time.

A sound penetrated her awareness, and she turned her head slowly. Across the dim room from her, the door to the hallway stood open. She cocked her head slightly, listening. Footsteps, coming closer. She considered her bed, knowing that she had plenty of time to lie down and play comatose, but she didn't move. She was not sure that she cared if someone found her up, anymore. And besides, the person approaching was not a nurse or doctor. Not unless they had graduated really, really early.

A small figure came into view, stopping in the doorway to stare at her. Faith stared back. It was the little girl she had met a few days earlier. If she had to guess, the Slayer would put the kid at five or six years old, though her eyes had a depth to them that made her seem older. She was wearing pink pajamas, with little Pokemon slippers on her feet. Her black hair made her skin seem even paler than it was, and her face was as gaunt as Faith's own. They looked at one another in silence for several seconds, and then the girl spoke.

"You're awake again."

Faith nodded gravely.

"Uh huh. So are you."

The child's eyes were solemn as she stared.

"You scared me, before. I thought you might be a monster or something. That's why I ran away."

The Slayer shrugged, turning her head to stare out of the window.

"Some people would tell you that I am a monster. That doesn't make it so. There's no reason for you to be scared of me."

Silence then, for a long minute. Eventually she heard the slippers scuffing across the floor towards her. She glanced over her shoulder to see the girl plop down on the floor next to the messy pile of newspapers. That small dark head moved back and forth, seeming to scan the various headlines. Faith wondered what she made of all the grainy images of a bombed-out school and a smiling Mayor Wilkens. The girl looked up and their eyes met. Any nervousness that had been there when she had come in the room was gone now.

"I don't know if you remember, but I'm Kira." The girl paused a moment, then tilted her head slightly. "Do sleeping people hear what people around them say? 'Cause I talk to them a lot, and I've always wondered."

Faith blinked.

"I don't know.... I remember hearing some stuff, but a lot of it didn't make any sense." She shifted position slightly, brushing her hair away from her face. "I'm Faith, by the way."

Kira nodded.

"I know."

She began gathering up the scattered newspapers that were strewn about. Faith watched as she stacked them neatly into a pile, then pushed them over next to Faith's dangling leg. The Slayer pulled the leg up, folding it underneath her on the windowsill. Kira looked up at her.

"Are you sad? You look like you are."

Faith nodded.

"Yeah. I guess I'm sad."

Kira tilted her head, staring up where Faith sat in the open window.

"Are you going to jump out the window and kill yourself? 'Cause sometimes people do that."

Faith stared at her for a moment, surprised despite herself. She answered slowly, careful of her words.

"No, I'm not going to kill myself." She was even pretty sure it was the truth. "Besides," A faint smile came to her lips. "I know for a fact that this isn't high enough to get the job done. Not for me, anyway." The girl nodded, accepting this.

"Everybody here is sad. At least, the ones who can wake up. And even the sleeping ones seem mostly sad, to me." She rubbed the tip of her nose, looking down at the floor. "This is the place where they send you when they don't want to have to see you, anymore."

Faith stared down at the top of the child's head.

"Huh? Why would someone not want to see you?"

Kira shrugged, still not looking up.

"I'm sick, and I'm gonna die. It makes my daddy sad to have to see me, and my new mom and her kids never liked me anyway. So they stopped coming to see me." She traced the lines of the floor tiles with a finger. "Except on weekends, sometimes, when they bring me stuff. But they don't stay long." She sighed. "It's okay. I don't mind." She raised her head and regarded Faith with eyes that seemed older than her years. "I saw that you don't have anything in your room. Don't your mommy and daddy at least come to bring you things?"

Faith looked into those eyes, an odd feeling making her throat tighten. She shook her head.

"No. My mom's been dead for a long time. My father...." She glanced down at the newspapers lying on the floor, and her vision blurred for a moment. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "My father would have come to see me, but he died a couple of months ago."

Kira looked up at her, sympathy filling her face. She started to reach out to touch Faith's leg, but pulled her hand back suddenly.

"I'm sorry. Did he get sick?"

Faith wiped her eyes, then shifted her position, hugging her legs to her chest and resting her cheek atop her knees.

"Nope. Someone killed him." She smiled a little at Kira's wide-eyed look. "My sister killed him."

"Wow." The girl pondered that, then shook her head wonderingly. "She sounds scary. Is she scary?"

The dark-haired Slayer nodded.

"She IS scary." Unconsciously, her hand went to her belly, fingers tracing the lines of the scar there. "Scarier than me."

Kira gave her a stern look that looked startlingly cute on her small face.

"You're not scary, Faith." She thought for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. "I think you're nice." She spoke firmly, as if stating an undeniable truth.

Faith was surprised into a bitter laugh. She shook her head when Kira gave her another stern look.

"Thanks. But you only think that because you don't know me." She realized she was tracing the scar, and took her hand away, using it to push her blowing hair back from her face. She took a deep breath and looked out at the grey morning. "When I first got to this town, everybody thought I was cool. After a while though, I said something wrong, or did something wrong, and then no one would even talk to me. I guess I can't hide the real me for very long. When people see it they get gone in a hurry."

The little girl was leaning back against the side of the bed, her face scrunched up as she considered this.

"I don't think it's always the person's fault, when people leave them. Sometimes people are just like that." She seemed to be speaking from her own experience, and her voice was matter-of-fact when she continued. "Sometimes people get scared of you, or just don't want to do things with you anymore. It's not anything you did; not on purpose. Things just changed." She waggled her feet back and forth for a few seconds, then looked up at the Slayer. "You shouldn't let it bother you, Faith. If they forget about you, then you just forget about them back."

Faith was surprised into a little laugh.

"Gee, thanks Yoda." She raised one and clenched it into a fist, which elicited a couple of snaps and pops. "My preferred method of coping with my problems is to kill anybody who fu-uh, messes with me. As painfully as possible. You'd be amazed at how satisfying that can be."

The young girl gazed up at her with her old eyes.

"That's weird."

That prompted a rueful smile from the older girl.

"Well, yeah. I'm a weird person."

Kira nodded in agreement, watching her slippers as she tapped her feet together. A companionable silence followed. Faith glanced down at the paper she held, the one that listed those people who were dead or missing after the school was destroyed. Buffy had survived. All of them had, though the body count among the nobodies was respectable. Snyder had bought it, too. That was almost enough to make her smile. Almost. They had never found the Mayor's body, though they talked about large amounts of unidentifiable animal meat. She knew what that meant. If only she had been there. She would have checked the school, had planned to do it that morning.... If only.

"Faith? You wouldn't kill me, if I got you mad. Would you?"

She looked at the little girl, amazed at how calmly a kid so young could say things like that. Not scared or anything, and seeming like she knew exactly what they were talking about. It was hard to bullshit somebody like that, so she didn't try.

"Kira, I could kill anybody, if I had to. I've had a lot of practice, and it doesn't bother me." She sighed, thinking about it. "I could kill you, if there was a good reason. But I can't see how that could happen." She leaned her head back against the window frame, blinking when an errant raindrop struck her eye. "I think you're safe enough around me."

Kira seemed to accept that. At least she didn't jump up and run away screaming this time. Faith wouldn't have blamed her if she had done just that. The Slayer glanced outside once more, then straightened her legs, moving to carefully stand up. She got her feet under her, then leaned out to pull the window closed. The little girl had also stood, and stepped back as Faith walked the three steps to the bed. She paused.

"Sorry, I have to lie down now. I get tired fast, these days." Looking down at the girl, she frowned. "If you could, well, not tell anybody that you saw me awake and moving around, I'd appreciate it."

Kira nodded in understanding.

"You're not supposed to be up." She looked towards the hallway, where Faith's more-than-human hearing could detect the sound of a television two hallways away. "I'm not supposed to be up either."

Faith smiled in relief.

"Well then. I won't tell if you don't."

She reached out to tousle the girl's hair, but stopped when the child flinched back. Those huge eyes were held more sadness than anyone should have to bear.

"You don't want to touch me, Faith." She fidgeted uncomfortably. "Not unless you have gloves, and--" She made a waving gesture across her face. "One of those clear mask-things."

The Slayer sat slowly on the edge of the bed.

"Why not? Because you're sick? That doesn't bother me. I don't get sick."

The girl looked doubtful.

"I'm not just a little sick. I have AIDS. I caught it from my real mother when I was born, but they didn't know it until last year." She looked down. "So nobody touches me, or hugs me, or wants to be around me anymore. Cause they might get it, and then they would be going to die, too." Faith could see a little bit of why the kid acted like she did, now. It was still strange how matter-of-fact the little girl was about her condition, though. And it wasn't that she didn't understand what she was describing. It was plain in her eyes and her voice that she did, as much as anyone could understand their approaching death. This child was braver than she would be, braver than she had been, when she had looked Death in the eye. It was hard, but Faith managed a faint smile as she reached out slowly, so as not to frighten her. She ran her fingers down the side of that small face, then tapped her lightly on the tip of her nose.

"Like I said; I'm not afraid of catching anything, Kira. There's only one thing in the world that scares me, and she's not here." The child stood still, looking uncertain of how to respond. Finally, she reached up carefully and touched Faith's hand with both of hers. The older girl gave her a reassuring smile, then closed her fingers around Kira's and gave them a gentle squeeze. "See? Now take off." She looked away from the wonder on the little girl's face and lay back on the bed, wriggling around a little to get comfortable. "I have to get a little more sleep, now." She turned her head to look at the girl. "Thanks for not running away this time. It was nice, having someone to talk to besides myself. I've been doing too much of that."

Kira was standing beside her, which put their faces close to the same level. Her voice was hushed, like she was already trying to keep from waking someone.

"You only had yourself to talk to while you were sleeping?"

Faith shook her head slightly. Her eyelids were getting heavy.

"No, before that. Empty rooms and me go way back. See you later."

Kira gave her a little smile that seemed to light up her whole face.

"You're welcome. Can I come see you when you wake up again?"

Faith nodded.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

The girl walked around the bed and to the doorway, out of her line of sight, but she could feel her standing there, watching, until the heavy darkness came and carried her away.

* * * * *


	9. Chapter 9

3:38 pm  
July 31, 1999

Kira hummed happily to herself as she sat in the visitor's lounge, playing with her Lego blocks. The daytime nurses usually didn't mind her being out there, so long as she gathered up her things and went back to her room when some people came in to see someone. She smiled to herself as she put the finishing touches on a barn for her horse to live in.

"Well, you seem to be in a better mood today."

She looked up to see Dexter, the janitor who worked around the fifth floor. He was an older man, but he treated her like a real person, unlike most of the other people she saw. She nodded, looking down at what she was building.

"Yep. I feel better."

It was true. Just the thought of having someone willing to talk to her, who wasn't scared of being around her, made everything seem brighter. The pills still made her sick to her stomach, and this morning she had spent an hour or so being all sweaty and trembly for no reason that she could figure out, but she was able to put that aside. Faith liked her. She had a friend, again. Dexter pushed his rolling mop bucket across the width of the corridor to the Nurses station, leaving her sitting there amid the chairs. She heard him greet the women on duty, and their reply carried to her clearly.

"Dexter. Have you seen that Brit doctor up here lately? The woman?" His response was quieter, and she missed it. There needed to be some windows in her Lego barn, so the horse could get lots of fresh air. She hated being cooped up inside all the time, and knew that he would too.

"I'm just saying that it's strange, that's all. I had to put all her tubes back in again! Now, either that girl is thrashing around something awful when I'm not looking, or something strange is going on."

Kira looked up. Were they talking about Faith? Dexter mumbled something in that soothing way he had, but it didn't seem to help. The nurse was upset, her voice loud and bitter.

"What I think, is that Miss high-and-mighty is doing it. She's taking them out every time she's up here, just so we have to put them back. Oh, it sounds odd, sure, but you weren't here last time me and her got into it." Kira crawled on her hands and knees to look around the edge of the doorway. Dexter and another Nurse were standing there listening to the woman go on. It was one of the lazy ones, who hardly did anything unless they had to.

"It's her patient, so why should we have to do the extra work? She wants us to keep a log of her vitals and responses, every two hours! Why?! I mean, she's healthy enough, someone who's not going to wake up. It's not like she's going anywhere."

The janitor nodded, leaning up against the counter.

"So do you do it?"

The nurse snorted in amusement.

"Hell no! I just write in the entries and change the numbers around just a bit every once in a while. What's the difference? I already do enough work around here, I'm not going to hop every time she says hop. That's why I think she's pulling the tubes on her vegetable down there. She's trying to get me to pay more attention to that girl than to the rest of them. Or, if I tell her about it, she's going to try and blame me for it. She's already said that she's going to get me fired, and I told her 'good luck'!"

The other nurse looked concerned.

"So... what are you going to do?"

"Nothing, that's what. If she thinks she can push me into doing something I don't have to do, she's dead wrong. I'm not going to get pulled into her little game. I'm supposed to feed her and change her IV bags once a shift, and that's what I'll do, same as with the rest. No special treatment. If anything is pulled out, I'll just make sure it's back in at the end of my shift, and I won't say a word. Sooner or later she'll get tired of messing with me, and stop her foolishness."

Kira went back to where her blocks were piled in the center of the small room. She didn't understand how some grownups could be so dumb, but if it kept Faith out of trouble, she didn't mind.

She couldn't wait until the older girl woke up again, so she could tell her all about it.

* * * * *

Faith was still trying to free herself from the IV's when a small head peeked around the edge of the door. The Slayer looked up, pretending to be surprised. She didn't want the little girl to know that, to her ears, even the lightest, most stealthy footsteps sounded like someone using a brick to pound on an oil drum.

"Well, hi again."

The dark-haired child smiled uncertainly, edging into the shadowy room.

"Hi Faith. Can... I come in?"

Faith nodded, looking back down at her forearm.

"Sure. I told you before that it's cool. I'm just working on getting loose, here."

The tubes were taped against her arm this time, and somebody had used about half a roll of tape to do it. It was awkward, but she'd gotten her other hand pulled across her body, using her fingernails to dig and tear at the tape. Kira came to stand beside the bed, watching as the older girl struggled.

"Almost... c'mon, just a little, ah, you fucking piece of--"

Faith winced, looking up at the girl through the black hair that had spilled forward over her shoulder. She tossed her head to flip it back, out of her face.

"Um, sorry, that slipped out."

The little girl giggled.

"That's okay, Faith." She bounced up and down on her toes. "Can I help?"

The Slayer looked back down, and shook her head.

"No, I've almost... got it!" She tore the tape away, gritting her teeth as it pulled some hair out of her forearm along with it. With a grimace, she pulled out the IV's, pressing her palm against her skin as the small wounds began bleeding. Kira's eyes went wide as she stared at the bloody needles that lay on the sheets.

"Yuck!"

She turned and ran to the doorway that led to the bathroom. The light in there came on, and there was a scrabbling sound. Faith sat there for a moment, looking at the spill of light on the floor, then at the darkness outside the window. She hoped the sight of the blood, and the needles, hadn't grossed out the girl too badly. She only looked to be around six years old, after all. That was too young to be seeing stuff like this. Well, she was too young to get dumped in the hospital with a fatal disease, too. Shit like that happened, she knew all about it. Seconds later, Kira came back into the room, clutching a huge handful of toilet paper. She brought it to the bedside.

"Here, we can use this to bandage it."

Faith smiled up at her from where she lay.

"It'll be okay. See?" She took her hand away. Blood was smeared across her arm, but the bleeding had already stopped. She took the paper from the girl and wiped it across her skin. Aside from a pair of fading red marks, there was no sign of the wounds.

"Wow."

Kira stared at the arm, impressed. Faith reached across and started on her other arm, which was similarly bound. The child watched as she tore at the tape.

"Um, are you feeling better now?" The Slayer turned her head and gave her a puzzled look, so she went on. "I came to see you, yesterday, and I couldn't wake you up. I shook you and shook you, but you just kept lying there." She looked down, a guilty expression filling her narrow face. "I was afraid you were dead. It kinda scared me."

Faith tore the tape away and pulled out the last of the tubes.

"Sorry about that. I was hurt pretty bad when they brought me in here, and it's taken me a long time to get this far." She used the toilet paper to wipe away the blood that oozed from the needle mark, then watched as it closed. "I'm getting better fast now, though." Turning to the girl, she pushed her hair back over her shoulder again. "It was, what, the day before yesterday when we talked?"

Kira nodded.

"Uh huh." She took a step back as Faith twisted around to put her feet on the floor. "You said it would be okay if I came back... it's still okay, isn't it?"

Faith was wiggling her toes, trying to get them to wake up. She'd spent so much time laying in this bed that she wasn't sure her feet knew what they were for, anymore. At the girl's question, she looked up.

"Absolutely, it's okay. In fact--" She stood up, wrapping the sheet around herself to cover her nakedness. "I think you and me can have some fun, tonight. Do you want to go do a little exploring?" She padded to the door, peering out into the hallway. Everything seemed quiet. The little girl came up and joined her, looking down towards the corner that hid the nurse's station.

"Sure!" Her voice echoed in the wide hallway, and she gave a start, continuing in a whisper. "Where do you want to go?"

Faith looked down at her, then reached out to chuck her gently under the chin.

"I'm not sure. Let's just start looking, and we'll see what's here to see. First though, I need to clean up; again." She wrinkled her nose up in disgust. "Damn, I never knew that being in a coma would mean you would be this... never mind. Anyway, after I do that, we'll need to find me some clothes too." She clutched the sheet more tightly around her too-thin body. "If I walk around in this, even the Sunnydalians might notice that something's up."

Kira nodded eagerly.

"I can show you where there are some that nobody is using."

"Great. I'll hit the shower and be back in a few minutes. Let me know if somebody heads this way?"

The little girl went to stand in the door, and Faith smiled at her back. That was a good kid. The feeling of having somebody on her side again, even if it was just a sickly little munchkin was... nice.

* * * * *

She exhaled and pulled at the same time, and the jeans reluctantly slip up the rest of the way. She fastened them, wondering why, if she had had to lose so much weight, more of it hadn't come off of her ass. Not that she was unhappy with hers; not at all. But whoever this girl was laying in the bed beside her, she'd been tiny. Long-legged, though, so at least the jeans were long enough. Kira was sorting through the rest of the stuff in the closet, having to reach up over her head to move the hangers back and forth. The little girl didn't seem to think it strange that they were stealing stuff from a person lying in a coma, though she had made a point of asking first. Faith had listened bemusedly as the kid politely addressed the unconscious girl in the bed, asking if it was all right if her friend borrowed some of her clothes. Apparently it had been, because Kira had turned and started searching through the closet for something that would at least come close to fitting the Slayer.

There wasn't any underwear; it seemed like whoever had stocked the closet hadn't been thinking of the little necessities, but there was a decent selection of street clothes. Along with something that looked very much like a prom dress. She shook her head.

"Twisted."

Of the tops that were available, none were really of the style that Faith would usually be wearing. Not that she was in a position to go shopping at the moment, of course. She settled on a black sweatshirt with an image of Snoopy on the front. His mischievous grin suited her mood, and Kira approved of her choice wholeheartedly. Shoes were another matter. There were two pair in the closet, but neither of them were even close to big enough. Faith had big feet for a woman; slightly embarrassing, but not something she could change. They replaced the spare clothes, and then looked through two more rooms before finding some slippers that fit her. Not an ideal solution, but better than walking around barefoot. Now that she was fully clothed, Faith looked down at the younger girl.

"Okay. I'm going to go have a look around. If I get caught by the wrong people there could be trouble." She looked down into those dark eyes and tried to ignore the pleading in them. "It would be better if you stayed up here."

Kira suddenly looked like she was about to cry.

"F-Faith... I thought you like me. I thought you were going to let me help you. I can, too. Please?"

Crap, she thought. She'd never been good around kids.

"I do like you; you're great. But it would be safer for you if you didn't hang around me. Weird shi-stuff, happens around me. Trust me on that one."

The little girl clenched her hands into tiny fists, and her eyes grew determined.

"I'm not afraid of somebody catching us. Not unless I'm by myself. I want to go with you."

Someone arguing with her usually resulted in her either blowing the person off, or kicking the shit out of them. For some reason, neither one seemed to be the right response in this situation.

"All right." Kira broke into a bright smile, hopping up and down with delight. Faith put a hand on her shoulder. "Whoa there, calm down. We'll just be careful, and if something happens, you run away and let me take care of things, okay?"

"Yep! Whatever you say! I'll be good, you'll see!"

The Slayer sighed, rubbing at her face with one hand.

Kids.

* * * * *


	10. Chapter 10

It was late, like three AM late, and the cafeteria was closed. Faith pushed the swinging door open just a little, peering inside. The lights were off, but her nightvision showed her a large expanse of tables and chairs, all very clean. Her hearing didn't detect anyone moving around; her nose didn't pick up anything except the residual odors that had led her here. Kira slipped in front of her and looked into the room. The sudden loud growl from Faith's stomach made her giggle and look up at the older girl.

"Hungry?"

The Slayer put a hand on the child's back and gently propelled her into the room, following close behind.

"You bet I am. I'm gonna need a few serious food binges if I'm going to get my strength back." The two of them walked slowly towards the kitchen, which was at the far end of the large space. Faith had to reach out a couple of times and guide Kira around obstacles the girl could not see in the near-total darkness. The food preparation area was a separate room, with access via two doors and a serving counter that had large swing-down panels to close it off when not in use. Everything was shut, and Faith frowned as she tried one of the doors, only to find it locked.

"Crap. I wanted to be sneaky." She looked down at the girl beside her, but she doubted Kira could even see her except as a dim outline. Faith's stomach growled again, and she shrugged. All this moving around was bringing her metabolism back up from the low levels she'd imposed on it during her long coma, and she wasn't making any effort to slow it down. She needed to be at full speed before she made any kind of move to escape from this place. That meant that the body needed fuel, and lots of it. Now.

She took a step back, measuring the distance to the door, and then kicked it. There was a low booming sound that echoed around the room, but the door stood firm. The Slayer growled, took a deep breath, then kicked it again, harder. It didn't budge. Kira was looking around anxiously.

"Faith, that's really loud. Somebody's gonna hear us."

She took two steps back, glaring at the door. It was just a door, dammit. A metal-clad door, yeah, but nothing she couldn't get through. Moving forward, she pivoted on her left foot and lashed out with her right, twisting her upper body in counterbalance to put maximum force into the blow. The thud resounded deafeningly, and she was thrust several steps back, but the door stayed stubbornly intact.

"Fuck!" She was the Slayer, and she couldn't even manage to break into a cafeteria kitchen. "Worthless, hopeless, lame-ass, dumb-ass, loser bitch!" She was trembling with helpless rage, and she jerked in surprise when something touched her on the hand. Kira was looking across the room at the light coming in through the glass panels in the double doors.

"I think somebody's coming. Hide!"

Faith let the girl pull her down behind a table, and a few seconds later someone did push one of the doors open and put their head in.

"Hello? Is somebody in here?"

The two of them stayed crouched low. Faith was hoping that there wasn't a light switch handy to the doors, because if they came on the guy would easily spot them. A brief, tense time passed, then the door swung shut. She raised her head over the table and looked, just to be sure, but he was gone. She sat down on the floor, folding her arms across her stomach in a vain effort to ease the gnawing hunger there.

"Now what?" She looked around. "If I can't break that down, I sure as hell can't break into a snack machine. Except maybe one of those with the glass front, and gee, won't that be freaking obvious."

Kira stood there looking at her with a worried expression.

"Couldn't you come back when they open? You're a grown up, mostly. You could buy stuff."

Faith shook her head wearily.

"No money, babe. Besides, I've got this feeling that it wouldn't be good for people to see me up and walking around. Maybe something I dreamed...." She trailed off, wondering what she had dreamed. There had been images there, and some of them had seemed important. The little girl had moved over to the wall and was feeling along it. She tried both doors, but they were locked tight. Which was a good thing, because if the other one had turned out to be unlocked, Faith might have had to kill herself right then and there to escape the embarrassment. There were a couple of recessed areas where food serving bins dropped into little cavities designed to receive them, and a little nook that she had ignored in favor of kicking in a door. Kira stretched up on tiptoe and reached inside, and there was a creaking sound.

Faith was on her feet and beside the girl in a bare second.

"What'cha got there?"

It was a tiny door, made to allow empty trays to be slid back through the wall. It swung freely when the Slayer tried it, but it was awfully small, and she frowned at it thoughtfully.

"I know I've lost weight, but not that much." It was maybe ten inches high and fifteen wide. Her head, and maybe one shoulder would fit through there, but she doubted the rest of her would. Kira was still stretched up trying to see, though for her it had to be nearly pitch-black in here.

"I think I can do it."

She turned to look in Faith's direction, her pale face showing clearly in the Slayer's nightvision. The older girl considered this for a moment. It shouldn't actually be dangerous, and the kid was certainly small enough....

"Okay." She picked the girl up easily, even without her full Slayer strength; Kira weighed next to nothing. Setting her down on the small ledge, she pushed open the swinging flap and held it. "Be careful, though. Don't fall and hurt yourself, or I'll have to go find somebody to let you out. That would kind of blow the whole undercover thing we've got going here."

The girl nodded, sliding forward on her stomach.

"I'll be careful."

A moment later, and her feet had vanished from view.

* * * * *

It was dark inside the kitchen. Really, really dark. Kira finished crawling through the door, then paused, still on her hands and knees. She hadn't thought ahead when she had offered to come in here. She was by herself, in a dark place. The monster could be in here, and she would never know it was there until it grabbed her. She stayed very still, listening, but all she could hear was her own breathing, and the beating of her heart.

"Kira? You okay?"

Faith's voice, from behind her. She heard the little door swing up; it bumped her foot but didn't really let any more light in. She swallowed heavily.

"Uh, yeah. I'm going."

She edged forward, feeling in front of her with one hand. The counter she was on was slick, and a little greasy. Her reaching hand suddenly touched only empty space, and she swung around until she was sitting on the edge. She hopped down and landed on the floor, only to lose her balance because she couldn't see how far down it was. She caught herself with her hands, then stood up, turning a slow circle and trying to get her bearings. There was a single point of light off to one side; a glowing button on some humming appliance she couldn't make out.

It was creepy in here by herself, and was scared that something bad would happen to her where Faith couldn't get in to help her. She made herself take slow, deep breaths, and to stay quiet. The older girl would think that she was a baby if she started to cry, and then she wouldn't want to be Kira's friend anymore. She wouldn't let that happen, no matter what.

She walked slowly towards where she thought the door should be, her slippers scuffing across the tiles of the floor. Her outstretched hands touched smooth metal, and she found a vertical bar handle. She pulled it open, and light dazzled her. She gave a squeak of surprise, shielding her eyes with one hand as a wash of cool air flowed over her. She squinted into the light, and growled at what she saw.

"Stupid refrigerator." She left the door hanging open, since the light spilling out of it let her see where she was going. Reaching the kitchen door, she grabbed the handle and turned it. At least, she tried to turn it. It wouldn't open, even from this side. She felt the knob wiggle slightly as Faith tried to turn it from the other side, but it would not open.

"I think it needs a key from this side, too." Her voice sounded funny in here with all the metal and tile to bounce it around. Faith said something that Kira couldn't make out, but she guessed it was probably another bad word. There was a muffled thump from outside, then the older girl spoke.

"Okay, kiddo. Come on back to the little flap. I'll think of something else."

She sounded really depressed, and Kira sighed. She walked back towards the counter, passing by the refrigerator on the way. She stopped and looked inside it. It was huge, way bigger than the one she remembered from her house, and it was full of all kinds of stuff. Maybe she could take Faith something to eat, to make up for not having been able to get inside. She reached in and grabbed the first few things she found, but they were hard to hang onto all at once. There was a stack of heavy plastic trays over by the sink, so she went and got one, then dumped the food onto it. That worked much better. She carried it to the counter, carefully reaching up and setting it there before looking for a way to climb up after it.

"Kira, are you coming?"

Ah, if she pulled out the drawers underneath, she could use them to put her feet on.

"Coming!"

She scrambled up beside the tray, glancing back at the refrigerator, which still stood open. If she went back and closed it, it would be hard to climb up here again in the dark. Her eyes fell on the serving counter beside her. Like the little tray door, it was a big opening in the wall between the kitchen and the big room outside. There was a large flat space to set dishes of food on for people to take, and the doors that swung down to close it were fastened tight. She crawled over to look at how they were fastened. There were little metal pins that slid down into holes to keep it closed. There was no lock or anything, and she rubbed at her nose for a second as she looked at it, then she grinned.

The pins slid back easily, and she pulled at the panel, swinging it open at the bottom. A moment later it moved farther as it was pushed from the outside, and Kira scuttled back out of the way as Faith leaned inside. The older girl gave her an incredulous look, and she waved a hand at the tray beside her.

"I was going to bring you something, but would you rather pick out what you want yourself?"

Faith smiled and gave a little laugh.

"You bet I would." She climbed up and through the opening, dropping to the floor inside the kitchen with barely a sound. She lowered the swinging panel until it hung closed, then scooped Kira up off the counter and set her down beside her, pulling her against her hip in a brief hug.

"Outstanding work, short stuff. Thanks."

Kira beamed up at her friend, then followed her as she crossed the room towards the open refrigerator.

"You're welcome."

* * * * *

Faith finished putting together her second sandwich and immediately tore into it. Funny how good bologna and bread could taste after getting fed through a tube for a few months. About halfway through it, her stomach gave her a warning twinge, and she slowed down a little.

"Guess I should take it easy until I get used to eating again."

Kira nodded, taking a tiny sip of milk from her cup. Faith paused in the act of bringing the gallon jug of orange juice to her lips and gave her a long look. The little girl hadn't touched the sandwich she had made, and didn't seem inclined to start on it anytime soon, either.

"Hey. Aren't you going to eat? You're too skinny to skip a free meal."

Kira shrugged.

"I'm not very hungry." She set the sandwich down on the plastic plate in front of Faith. "You can have mine, if you want."

The older girl felt an unexpected touch of concern. The kid had helped her out; people had done favors for Faith before, but usually only because they wanted something from her, or because she had forced them into it. This was the first time in a long time that somebody had gone out of their way to lend her a hand. The least she could do was make sure the girl didn't starve.

"All right, no sandwich. How about some of this cheese?" She picked up a piece from her plate, peeling away the thin layer of clear plastic. "Mmm, individually wrapped, delicious cheese." She leaned forward to wave the slice in front of the girl's nose, which prompted a giggle from Kira.

"Okay. Cheese is good." She took it from Faith's hand and began nibbling on one corner. It was a start.

"Let me tell you something. Cheese is better than good; cheese is great. Take it from someone whose lived on the street." She started eating the sandwich again; taking her time between bites so her stomach could accommodate the incoming food. It felt like her belly was warming to its task, clearing space for more sustenance with admirable speed. That was good; she had a lot of weight to put back on before she was back where she was supposed to be. "When you're digging through a dumpster for something to eat, you don't want to try something that's spoiled. That'll get you sick. Cheese doesn't spoil very easy. Sure, it gets all dried up and hard, but you can still eat it. And even then, it tastes like cheese." She took another long drink of juice, and she could practically feel the stuff going to work. All that IV stuff might keep you alive, but real food was much better when it came to getting you back on your feet.

Kira had eaten about half the slice she was working on before stopping to stare at the older girl, a disbelieving expression on her face.

"Ewww! You ate food from dumpsters?"

Faith nodded. Two sandwiches down now. She dug her hand into the bag of chips beside her and pulled out a fistful. "The second time I ran away from the foster family." She crammed the chips in her mouth, then chewed and swallowed as fast as she could so that she could continue speaking. "Sorry. Anyway, yeah. I was out there for five months before my Wat-- Before somebody found me. It was either scrounge, or do some other stuff to make money. Not that I didn't do some of that, too."

She found herself falling back into her memories of that time, and that was not something she ever did by choice. That was before she had become a Slayer; before she had been anything but what other people had forced her to be. She shook it off with an effort, pulling her mind back to the here and now. Whatever she was at this moment, it was something that she had chosen. Nobody could force her. Not anymore.

Speaking of forcing.... Kira had tossed the rest of her cheese behind a cabinet when she thought Faith wasn't watching.

"I saw that. Come on, eat something!"

The little girl just sat there, fidgeting. Giving a little growl, the Slayer stood and went to investigate the third big refrigerator. They hadn't looked in this one yet, and when she pulled open the doors Faith couldn't help but grin.

"Jackpot. Look, it's desert!"

Lots of closely spaced shelves lined the interior, each with dozens of little bowls or plastic-wrapped plates.

"How about some pudding. You like pudding?" She looked over her shoulder at Kira, but the girl just gave a shrug. Disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm, Faith scanned the selection. "Hey, pumpkin pie." She pulled out several of the little serving plates of that for herself; she'd loved that stuff. The only time she'd had it was soon after she had arrived in Sunnydale. It had been during one of the handful of times she'd been invited to eat at Buffy's house, before things started... screw that. She'd gotten over that stuff a long time ago. "Jello. There we go." She pulled out three bowls of the jiggling cubes, then used her foot to kick the doors shut. Moving back to where Kira sat, she eased down into a sitting position next to her, placing a bowl in her hands.

"Eat that. It's not really food, but you need to get something inside you." The girl opened her mouth to say no, but the Slayer cut her off. "Eat. Remember; there's always room for jello." Kira looked puzzled. Obviously she had never heard that one before. Faith sighed, then dug into her first piece of pie.

* * * * *


	11. Chapter 11

The hallways here on the second floor were always brightly lit. It was hard to tell what time it was until you found one of the few clocks. Faith always knew where the sun was in the sky, or how long it would be until it rose; that was one of the minor Slayer powers that didn't seem very flashy, but could still come in very handy. She looked down at where Kira was walking beside her.

"What time did you say the nurses changed shifts?"

The girl rubbed at her nose. At Faith's urging she'd eaten one bowl of Raspberry jello, but she had been a little sulky ever since. Finally she looked up.

"Six, I think. But sometimes the ones from before go around and check things before that, to make sure everything is okay. Sometimes."

The Slayer nodded. It was around four-thirty now, so they should still have a little time before they needed to head back up. She wasn't ready to let anyone know that she was awake and aware, so she would play coma-girl for just a little longer. She led the way down another hallway, then paused at an unmarked door. Trying the handle proved that it wasn't locked, so she pulled it open and slipped inside. Behind her, Kira looked a little shocked.

"Where are we going?"

Faith glanced around the room before turning back to look at her.

"I have no idea. There's some things I'll need if I'm gonna get out of here, and this looks like the place to get 'em. Come on." The girl slowly stepped inside, and the Slayer pulled the door shut behind her. "Great. Now, let's see what's in here." The room they were standing in held only a table and some chairs that faced a big whiteboard. Faith put her head next to the door on the far side, listening intently. Her senses were not as far below par as her muscles were, but they were not a hundred percent, either. Still, hearing what was on the other side of a door was easy. She pushed open that one, and looked out into a smaller hallway. Many doors, none of them marked to indicate what lay behind them. Kira grabbed onto her hand, and she gave it a little squeeze before leading the way down the hall. Her sensitive nose picked up a strong chemical stink, and a peek through the first door confirmed it. Small plastic drums marked 'x-ray film developer' and with warning signs were stacked along the walls. She was about to try the next one down the line when she heard something. Footsteps on this carpet were very quiet, but she'd been listening for just that sound. Someone was about to turn the corner down the hall, and she had only a second to react. Snatching up Kira in one arm, she pushed the door open and jumped through. She shut the door behind her as fast as she could without slamming it, then held it closed, just in case the person had seen her and tried to follow.

Whoever it was walked past without slowing, and she took a breath, only then realizing that she had been holding it. Setting Kira down, she turned to survey the room in which they found themselves.

"Beauty. This is exactly what I was looking for."

It was a locker room, with several dozen of the full-sized type lining the walls. Some of them had padlocks on the doors, but most of them didn't. She started at one end and began going through the ones that would open. The little girl stood in the center of the room and watched her for a minute before going to the other end and opening a locker. That brought Faith up short.

"Ah, Kira?" She waited until the girl looked around the open door at her before going on. "You don't have to do anything. I mean, I'm glad you're keeping me company and everything, and getting me into the kitchen was great, but you don't need to help me steal stuff. I'm starting to feel funny about you and me. It's like I'm corrupting you or something." Kira just looked at her, and she had to glance away from those deep, serious eyes. "You're a good kid. I don't think you want to end up being like me when you grow up."

The girl's expression didn't change, but when she answered it was as if she were the adult trying to explain something to a child.

"Faith, I'm not going to live long enough to grow up and be a bad person, remember?" The Slayer swallowed painfully at that. She had forgotten, for a while, and it hurt her to realize again what a burden the girl had to live with. Kira turned back to the locker she was investigating. "It's okay. If I can't get well and go home, then I want to help you do it. That's better than just sitting in my room by myself."

Well, shit. What could you say to that? She went back to looking for what she needed.

Five minutes later she had a pair of jeans that fit better than the ones they'd gotten from upstairs, a windbreaker , and most importantly, a pair of real shoes. She finished tying the laces and stood up, bouncing up and down a few times to make sure they fit. Neither of them had found any cash, but that was to be expected. Doubtless there were wallets and purses inside some of the locked ones, but she wasn't up to ripping off padlocks just yet. She bundled the stuff they had found inside the jacket and tucked it under her arm before holding her hand out to Kira.

"Okay, that's a start. Let's get out of here before somebody shows."

It took them only a few minutes to retrace their steps and reach the fifth floor. Everything seemed quiet, and just as they had left it. In her room, Faith stripped off her clothes and donned the drab (and not very concealing) hospital gown that they the nurses had begun dressing her in. Looking at the pile of things she had gathered, it occurred to her that she did not have a suitable place to hide them until they were needed. Kira followed her gaze.

"I can keep them for you, if you want." She looked up at the taller girl and smiled mischievously. "I know places to put them where nobody would ever look."

Faith nodded reluctantly.

"Okay. But don't get caught. I'll need another few days before I'm ready to go. There has to be somewhere in this place where I can work out a little. I got tired just climbing those stairs." She sat down on the bed and rubbed her hands along her thighs. She still had a lot of her muscle mass, maybe even most of it. But months of laying motionless (and yeah, nearly dying) had really taken a toll on her. She needed to get some exercise and work the kinks out, and that wasn't something she could do in her room, or anywhere else she had seen tonight. Kira looked like she was thinking, but no answer was forthcoming. Faith lay back in her bed and positioned the IV tubes and sheets back roughly where they should have been. So far nobody had made the jump to thinking that she was pulling them out herself, and that was just fine with her. If everyone would just cooperate and stay stupid a little longer, this Slayer would be long gone. She looked at the girl standing beside the bed.

"Thanks for helping me tonight, Kira."

The child nodded and smiled.

"It was fun. I'll see you later?" She looked suddenly concerned. "You won't leave without telling me, will you?"

That might be the best way, actually.

"No, I won't leave for a while yet. I'll tell you before I do head out." Probably. She would have to think about it. Kira had relaxed visibly at her words, and turned to head back to her own room.

"Okay then. Goodnight Faith."

"Goodnight."

* * * * *

6:20 pm  
August 4, 1999

He stepped back from the young man laying on the bed, watching the monitors closely. His vital signs had been low, but stable, following the demon attack that had led to his being brought here. The Twisted Man smiled bitterly. The doctors hadn't called it a demon, of course, and neither had the paramedics. 'Animal attacks' were all too common in Sunnydale, though strangely the vicious animals were seldom if ever located. The savage mauling this man had sustained was nothing unusual to the trauma team at Sunnydale general. The victim would survive, thanks to the prompt medical attention he had received; and the fact that the 'animal' had been driven off by a mysterious blonde girl before it could finish him.

At least, the victim should survive. The Twisted Man watched as the vital signs dropped slowly in response to what he had just done. He had decided to change his methods slightly. Waiting until the dark taint inside him built to such an intensity that he could no longer bear it was leading to problems. At that point, it was too often lethal to his victims, and the person died after he had drained the corruption into them. It had happened several times now, and certain members of the hospital staff were growing suspicious. So now he was trying something new. Instead of cleansing himself only every two weeks or so, he was doing it every few days. It increased the risk of detection slightly, but it also meant that the darkness was less lethal to those he chose as vessels. The last two he had used had survived easily, though one girl seemed to have been driven somewhat insane by the experience.

No matter. Insanity was nothing that could be traced back to him, and she was alive, at least. The problem that persisted was that anyone he used had to already be flawed, in some way. A healthy person would almost certainly be able to survive the process, but a healthy person was beyond his power. The desperately ill, or critically injured were what he needed, but those same people were often pushed over the brink by the supernatural poison that he shed into their bodies. Like this young man in front of him. The vitals were still dropping, and the nurse was due back any time. He sighed, and then turned away. There had to be a way to do this without revealing himself. With a demon-hunter making this town her home, he had to be more discreet.

Perhaps if he only used children.... There was a certain danger of the victims being in close proximity to him, but that would matter only if they failed to survive. The young were often more resilient than adults, maybe the smaller dosages (he smiled to himself at the term he habitually used) would be something they could tolerate. He resolved to give it a try.

Doctor Darrian Malloy stuffed his hands into his pockets and wandered back to the pediatric department, to finish his shift.

* * * * *

Faith was drifting just below consciousness, watching herself dream. A girl was there, someone she had never seen before, with red hair and strange, dark eyes. An odd feeling came over her when she saw this woman, a prickling sense of danger. She had never had so many odd dreams before. Maybe getting her head crunched in the fall had knocked something loose up there. Or just broken something, who could tell? She was wondering what kind of threat this unimposing red-haired person could pose when something happening to her body penetrated her awareness. Muzzily, she roused slightly, reaching out to the senses that dealt with the world around her, instead of the one within her. Sound, scent, taste, touch, they resolved themselves even as she came half-awake. There was someone there, in the room with her, and her face was hurting?

Another stinging slap was delivered to the side of her face, and Faith came the rest of the way awake in a hurry.

What the hell?

"Becky! Stop hitting her!"

A man's voice, and he was standing a few feet away. Who then--

"She's the one, Paul! She's the one who killed him!"

A woman, her voice hysterical. It sounded like she was standing right over the head of the bed, too. Faith felt her heartbeat come faster; her limbs tingle as her combat responses took hold. She deliberately calmed herself. Not yet, she wasn't ready to move yet. If she gave herself away, things could go really wrong, really fast. Wait. Wait it out.

"We don't know for sure that she's the one. That guy you found, we don't know for sure that he worked for Wilkens. He would have told you anything for the money you offered." He paused, and then continued in a softer tone. "Whoever killed your father, and the other officers, that night, they had to be hell on wheels. Those SWAT guys are real tough hombres. This girl... just look at her. You think She could have ripped up your dad like that?"

Ah. The SWAT guys. Faith remembered them. A few days before graduation, some of Sunnydale's boys in blue had put together the pieces. They had figured out who had been doing the dirty work for the Mayor, and since they couldn't kill him, they had come after her. That fight had been sweet. Whatshisname here was right, too; they hadn't been all that bad. For humans. Just thinking about it made her feel all warm and tingly.

Somebody, the girl, probably, put their hands in Faith's hair, to either side of her head. Gripping her like that, they shook her head as they spoke, so close that their breath brushed over her eyelids.

Ouch. She quelled the urge to snarl and lash out. Becky, huh? And the daughter of one of the men she'd killed that night. That was enough for her to find this girl later, show her just what dear old dad had felt, in those last few minutes. Oh, Becky was screaming into her face now. Joy.

"Because she's a girl? You think she's good-looking? That she's too CUTE to have killed them?!"

Well, she didn't like to brag, but it was true. She was babelicious and she knew it.

"You should know better than anybody that it doesn't matter what someone looks like! You were at graduation; you helped that Angel guy fight those, things!" She was half-screaming, now, but she was doing it back over her shoulder at the guy, so at least Faith didn't have to smell it. "If the Mayor was really a giant snake, who knows what she really is!"

Really annoyed? Really tired of listening to your boo-hoo bullshit? Becky was luckier than she knew. If she had showed up a couple of days from now, when Faith was ready to skip town, she'd really have had something to cry about.

"Come on, let her go." She heard him move closer, heard the sound of cloth on cloth. Aw, he was giving his girl a hug. "If it really was her, then somebody already got her for you. Look at her; she's not going to hurt anybody else."

Mmm hmm. Yep, just keep thinking that. Though if little Becky didn't get her hands out of Faith's hair by the time she counted to ten....

"Come on, Becky. Let go. Just let go."

...Three, Four, Five....

The hands released her, and Faith suppressed a grunt as her head dropped back onto the pillow.

"Y-you're right... it's just that, dad was so brave, trying to stop that monster and everything. He knew, he KNEW that something was going on, but nobody else would believe him! And when he finally found a way to convince the other men in his squad, and they found out that Wilkens owned the Chief of Police--"

They were walking away now, and Faith forced herself to relax. Still, she was a little scared. What if that psycho-bitch had walked in with a knife? Or a gun? It could have happened, and she would never even have woken up before getting blown away. That was a chilling thought.

The guy was making reassuring noises at his girl.

"There there, 'sokay. He was brave, and they did the best they could, trying to stop him. And he would have been proud to see you at graduation, standing up to that snake, and those demon-guys. He would have been proud."

The girl sighed.

"I guess so. I just wish miss 'Faith Wilkens' here could have seen it, too. I wish she could have seen her 'dad' get what was coming to him."

Faith's eyes were still closed, but she suddenly saw white. Fury blazed through her, and it was all she could to keep hold of herself, to keep from exploding up out of the bed and taking the little bitch by the throat.

"Come on, babe. Let's go home."

A moment later, and they were gone. Faith took a deep breath, and opened her eyes. Yeah, they were gone. She blinked, looking down at herself. The IV was only in one arm, today, but it was double-taped. The nurses must be getting tired of having to reinsert them every time she pulled them out and got up. She noticed that she was clenching her fists so hard that the muscles in her forearms were bunched up, shifting the needle and letting a trickle of blood flow down her arm. She forced herself to relax, and the blood stopped in a few seconds as the flesh around the needle healed back.

She stared at the ceiling.

Well. This had certainly shown that she was too vulnerable, laying here. Time to move like she had a purpose. It would be nice to hang around a while longer and get into decent shape before she left, but that was looking riskier than just leaving. She had been hoping to go back and break into some more lockers, maybe find somebody's wallet with some cash and credit cards, but that was something she could do out on the street. She could hitch a ride out of town; mug whoever picked her up, and be long gone before anyone was the wiser. All she really needed was to decide on where she was going. She was thinking of somewhere up north, where there were fewer demons and more stupid locals she could push around. A nice, backwater place, at least for a while.

A place where Buffy would never find her.

Her mind was wandering around and around, trying to come up with a destination, when she was startled to realize that what was bothering her most was the thought of telling Kira goodbye.

* * * * *


	12. Chapter 12

11:46 pm  
August 6, 1999

Clarita was sitting in front of the television, but she wasn't watching it. Staring at it, perhaps, but not really seeing the images on the screen. It had become her habit to come home to her apartment, pour herself a stiff drink, and sit quietly on the sofa for awhile before turning in. She had no social activities, here, no friends. All she had was her work, and even that was a lie. How could she throw herself into saving a life in the operating room, when she knew that she was working for people who condoned murder? She had been wrestling with that dilemma for months now, and was no closer to an answer than she had been at the beginning. Because there was no answer. Faith-None of this calling her 'the Beta', she was a person. At least, she had been, when her brain was still functional. Faith had to die, she accepted that. She could even try and ignore the horrible manner of that planned death; ritual sacrifice to the demonic ruler of some other plane. What she could not ignore was the knowledge that the girl in the coma was going to be the first of many to die, in order for their faction's plans to proceed.

Several weeks ago, one of Ian's secret cabal had made the trip to Sunnydale to check on her. To her surprise and delight, it had been James. The man might be one of the Council's most dangerous agents, but he was also a charming, witty man, and they had shared several very pleasurable liaisons in the past. They had certainly been on track that night to add another pleasant memory to those they already shared, but something had happened. In a rare lapse in discipline, he had had one drink too many, and when she had expressed her doubts about Ian's plans, he had waxed eloquent about what exactly those plans entailed.

The Council Elder was more ambitious than Clarita had dreamed, and more ruthless. The extent of his ambition was awe-inspiring, but it was his near-term goals that had chilled her to her very soul. He planned to wipe out the Watchers. Those who were not part of his organization already, anyway. The rest would be killed, murdered in some horrible 'accident' that he would engineer. Even the rogue Slayer, Buffy, was to be disposed of, to prevent her (and her equally-rogue Watcher) from interfering with Ian's plans. Clarita had been horrified at these revelations, and James had soon realized how indiscreet he had been. He had departed soon thereafter, and since that night she had been tortured by indecision.

What could she do? Was it even her place to attempt to stop what was to happen? Ian was so persuasive, so righteous in his plans to defend humanity against its unseen enemies. No doubt if she spoke to him, he would explain everything, tell her why it had to be this way.

Or perhaps he would simply have James, or someone like him 'remove' her.

She needed another drink. Levering herself to her feet, she turned-and gave a little shriek.

Janice stared at her coolly, no expression on that incongruously youthful face. She was sitting cross-legged atop Clarita's bar, those eyes seeming to absorb the light, making that side of the room dimmer than it should have been. The older woman sagged back down into the sofa, trying to regain her composure.

"W-what are you doing here?" She wanted to make it a demand, but the tremble in her voice dashed any hope of that. The girl tilted her head slightly.

"I go where I wish. I am no vampire, barred from a place unless invited. Did I startle you?" She didn't smile, but there it was plain that she was amused by Clarita's reaction.

Bitch.

"No, not at all." She could stand, now, so she did. Her knees barely shook at all. "I didn't expect to see you, is all. Would you like something? Some tea?"

"No, thank you." Those eyes followed her as she moved into the kitchen nook to prepare some anyway. Another glass of brandy would have been better, but nothing was going to make her go near the bar while the young sorceress was sitting on it. "I trust all is well, here?"

Clarita busied herself with finding some biscuits to have with her tea. Anything to keep from having to go back in there. Why did the girl disturb her so? The fact that she was a magician, that for her the normal rules of the universe did not apply? Or was it something darker, the knowledge that she bartered with the very creatures of evil that the Watchers were sworn to destroy. Maybe it was simply that Janice scared the shit out of her, simple as that.

"Oh, everything is fine, thanks. I have my papers, now, so I'm allowed to practice on surgical patients. Before that, it was all I could do to let me be there in an 'advisory capacity'. The research I'm doing as a cover is actually going very well; I may be able to publish in a few more months. That is, if I'm still here in a few months." She turned suddenly, her eyes widening. "Is that why you've come? Have they found Faith's heir?"

Janice was no longer sitting on the bar; she was standing in front of the television, staring at the screen with a slightly puzzled expression on her face. It looked for all the world as if she had no idea what she was looking at. The doctor found herself wondering again how a woman as young, and, well, cute was the only way to describe it, could be so intimidating. She glanced over at Clarita, and a scowl flitted across her features.

"'Faith'?" She stared unblinkingly for a moment, and then shook her head. "No, not yet. We knew that the Beta's," She placed a slight emphasis on the term. "Line would be difficult to locate, but so far it has exceeded even our most pessimistic estimates. No matter." She crossed her arms, tucking her small hands into the flaring sleeves of her blouse. "I've nearly convinced Ian that less... conservative magicks will be needed. I expect that we will have results fairly soon." She glided closer to where Clarita stood, drawing to a stop just a pace or two away. "Patience, doctor. Soon your task here will be over."

The way she said that didn't make it sound reassuring. The older woman was certain that the girl was doing it on purpose. She seemed to get some kind of boost out of causing fear in others. Well, that would only work for so long. Clarita Laidlow could be as cool as anyone, once she had gotten her bearings.

"I see. Well, will you be in town long? I could show you some decent places in town to eat. Nothing compared to London, of course, but we could hardly expect that now, could we?"

The sorceress turned away, moving slowly around the room, her gaze taking in every detail.

"No, we will not be staying." Her back was turned, but she still seemed to see Clarita's confusion. "James is with me, as escort. You know each other well, if I recall?"

"Yes. We're old friends." Where was he then? If he was in town, why hadn't he come to see her? Was he avoiding her because of what had passed between them the last time?"

"James is at the hospital, checking on the Beta. We can't risk anything happening to her before we locate the next, and there was a report of a disturbance in her room this evening."

Clarita felt the blood leave her face.

"What sort of disturbance? Was the girl hurt?"

"Not according to what we were told. Still, he thought it best if he go and investigate. Don't worry," Janice actually smiled, which only made her face seem more inhuman. "I've found James to be quite capable. In many ways."

The teakettle began to whistle, which spared Clarita of any need to respond in a civil fashion.

* * * * *

It was her seventh trip across the pool, and she was really starting to feel it. She'd always been a good swimmer, even before becoming a Slayer. That was what made this so irritating. She was getting stronger, but her endurance was still way below where it should have been. She could have swam a mile or two easy, back when she was ten. Now a fraction of that was leaving her winded. There was no help for it, though. She had to leave, and she'd decided that it would be tomorrow night. This would be her last outing with Kira.

Faith reached the edge of the pool and grabbed it, tossing her head to get her hair out of her eyes. The pool was a good-sized one, hidden down in the first basement level back behind the physical therapy department. A little experimenting with a ring of keys she had stolen from the janitor's closet had let the two of them inside, and she had gleefully shucked down to her underwear and dove in. She would rather have gone in naked, but hey, there was a kid here. Kira had been less eager to get wet. There she was now, still sitting on one of the benches, watching uneasily. Faith used a hand to splash a little water at the girl, then she allowed herself to drift towards the shallow end.

"I'm telling you, it's not cold at all. They have to heat it, when they put the pool inside like this."

Kira stared at the water distrustfully.

"I told you, I don't want to swim."

Faith sighed. The younger girl was not taking her looming departure well.

"But you know how?"

That got her a sullen look.

"Sure I know how. I just don't want to."

The Slayer waded up to the steps and climbed out. Water dripping from her, she walked to where Kira was sitting and knelt beside her.

"Listen, I'm sorry I have to leave, but that's just the way it is. I probably shouldn't even have said anything to you, but-"

"No! You promised not to leave without telling me!" The girl sounded fierce, and Faith sat back on her heels to look at her.

"Yeah, I promised you. So I told you, and now look at how you're acting. I was hoping we could have some fun tonight. Come on, you can't have many chances to go swimming the way they keep you cooped up."

Kira was quiet for so long that the she was wondering what was wrong, when she noticed tears brimming in the child's eyes.

"Faith? Do you think... maybe.... Would it be okay if I went with you when you leave?"

The Slayer slipped off of her heels and sat down on the rough concrete floor.

"Fuck."

The girl had clasped her little hands together in front of her, squeezing so hard that they were shaking.

"Please Faith, let me come. I won't be any trouble at all, I promise!"

Faith stared into those eyes for a long moment before closing her own and letting herself lean back until she was lying on the floor. She pressed the heels of her hands into her forehead as hard as she could.

"God, Kira. God, goddess, gods... slimy little demon things.... I was hoping you wouldn't put me through this." There was no response, and she really didn't want to know what the kid's face looked like. "I can't. I just can't. You don't know what you'd be letting yourself in for, hanging with me. The stuff I have to do, just to survive out there... you don't want to see it; I don't want you to live it." She grimaced. "No matter what some people say, I'm not a psycho. Not enough of one to screw up a little kid, anyway. No; I'm not going to do that to you."

"It's not like I have it so good here." Kira's voice was barely a whisper. "I don't mind if you do bad things, Faith. Stealing stuff isn't so awful, compared to what some people do."

She took her hands away and sat up, glaring at the girl.

"You've got no idea what you're talking about. You might think you know me, but you don't. Not even close!" She tried to stay mad; mad was good, it would make this easier. She tried, but she couldn't. "Kira.... I'm sorry about what's happened to you. It's awful, and if I could make it better then I would. But coming with me isn't going to make things better for you. It would probably get you killed in a hurry." She waved a hand up at the ceiling, indicating the hospital above them. "You have to stay here if you want to get your medicine, right? And, and, food when you want it. I'm not even sure I can take care of myself, I know I can't take care of you, too."

The girl wouldn't meet her eyes. She stared down at her bare feet instead, rubbing her toes along the damp floor.

"I don't need any medicine; it just makes me feel worse. I don't eat much, either. You wouldn't have to get me anything special, and maybe I could even help you." She wiped at her face and sniffed loudly, trying not to let Faith see her cry. Trying to be strong. Shit. When she looked up, her face was so full of desperation that it made the Slayer's gut hurt like she had been stabbed again. "Nobody here cares about me Faith. Nobody will get near me, or even talk to me. Except you." She sat there, begging with her eyes.

Even when she was laying in a bed, blinded and unable to move, she had never felt this helpless. There was nothing she could do or say that wouldn't hurt the little girl. Faith knew what it felt like to be hurt, over and over, by people who seemed to care about her. She knew what that was like, and that was why she tried not to get pulled in again. She'd been afraid that something like this would happen with Kira; she had known that it was coming, but she still hadn't been able to prevent it from happening. Just like those stupid Slayer dreams. What good did they do, if you couldn't keep what you saw from happening?

So what did she do now? She thought it over, and tried not to look at the girl who was waiting anxiously, needing to hear her speak, but afraid of what she would say.

"I... suppose the way to go is to not worry about what could happen, just deal with what is happening. Right now, you want to go with me. Later you might change your mind, or something bad might happen, but right now you really want to go. Right?" Kira nodded wordlessly, her eyes wide. "Okay then. We'll give it a try."

The girl stared at her for several long seconds.

"Does that mean yes?" She sounded like she was scared to believe it. Faith nodded, not sure she believed it herself.

"Yeah. That means yes."

Kira flung herself into Faith's arms, hugging her as tight as she could. She was crying freely now, with her sobs being interspaced with little bursts of laughing as she tried to deal with her sudden good fortune. The Slayer smiled, ignoring the nagging part of her that was whispering that this would end badly, that it couldn't end any other way. That would come later, if later ever came. Life was short, after all. The girl might actually outlive her by a good long while. She stood up, cradling Kira in her arms. The child giggled, swinging her legs back and forth, but she didn't struggle too hard, even when Faith walked to the edge of the pool and gently tossed her into the water.

Their laughter soon echoed from the drab walls that surrounded them.

* * * * *


	13. Chapter 13

2:18 AM  
August 7, 1999

It was early yet, but they were heading back upstairs. If Kira was coming along with her tomorrow, then there was no need to make this a late night. Actually, Faith had been forced to insist that the girl go and get some sleep, or she would have happily stayed in the pool for hours. A brief shower in the changing room downstairs had rinsed most of the chlorine smell off of them, but there hadn't been any towels to be found, so both of them were still dripping wet.

"I'm not sure how you're going to explain to the nurses how you managed to get soaked if you never left the your room." Faith was wearing her jeans and snoopy sweatshirt, willing to risk them still being damp tomorrow when it came time for their escape. Not that it should come to actually having to escape or anything. Her plan was for the two of them to just walk out the front door. Nobody down there should be able to recognize them; so there shouldn't be any problem. Kira was climbing the stairs beside her, her Pokemon slippers squishing with every step due to a minor incident that had occurred during their playtime in the pool.

"I've got a shower in my bathroom, so I'll just tell them I forgot to dry off before I put my clothes on. I don't think anyone will notice, though."

That was probably true. Nobody wanted to look at someone who made them feel uncomfortable, for whatever reason. From what the girl had told her, it sounded like everyone made a habit of ignoring her, so long as she didn't cause any trouble. The similarities between her and Kira were kind of spooky.

"All right. So you're going to meet me in my room tomorrow night...."

The girl nodded, and began reciting the plan they had worked out.

"I'm going to see if I can steal a whole bunch of my medicine when the nurses aren't looking. If I can't do that without them seeing me, I need to try and find out where they keep it, so that you can get it for me when it's time for us to leave." She raised her hand and ticked items off on her small fingers. "I should pick out two outfits to take with me, and remember socks and underwear. And shoes."

"Good. Once I find a place to set up we can both get more things, but that might take a couple of weeks. I hope not, but you never know."

Kira smiled brightly.

"I know you'll make everything okay, Faith. Don't worry."

Wow. When was the last time someone had been that trusting, that dependant on her? Mayor Wilkens had believed in her, but he had been well able to take care of himself. Except at the end. She hoped she could do a better job this time, of protecting the person who was counting on her.

At the top of the stairs, Faith put her hand on the handle of the heavy metal fire door, glancing through the small window to make sure the coast was clear. A jolt of adrenaline rushed through her as she glimpsed a man entering her room, just a few feet away.

Just that quickly, playtime was over. Her breathing deepened and she felt every muscle in her body grow tense, trembling with readiness. Behind her, Kira realized that something was wrong.

"What is it?" She was whispering, but even that was too loud. The Slayer dropped to one knee, and spoke softly with her lips nearly brushing the girl's ear.

"There's somebody in my room, and I can't let them go now that they know I'm awake. I have to fight them. Whatever happens, stay here."

That was all she had time for. Opening the door just wide enough to slip through, she moved into the hallway. An instant later the man strode from the room. He was just raising a small cell-phone to his ear when he caught sight of her waiting for him. He froze for a moment, then lowered his hand, folding the phone shut and dropping it back into his pocket.

"Hello. I'm glad to see you up and around."

Faith smiled at that, but didn't lower her guard.

"Oh really? And who are you? Did I kill your brother? Did I kill your dog? Did I kill your brother's dog?" She spread her arms wide, presenting herself to him. "If you're here for some payback, just bring it on. I could use the exercise."

He looked sort of amused.

"I'd rather not fight you. I would, however, very much like to talk."

She looked him up and down. He was good-looking, in a sort of over-groomed way. A trim black man with a runner's build and a smooth confidence in the way he moved. The clothes were understated but very classy, and there was something about that trace of an accent. "Let me guess; you're Bond, James Bond. A Watcher, right?"

He flashed her a smile, his teeth very white against his dark face.

"Coincidentally, my name really is James, though not Bond. And you are Faith." His voice was smooth too. He didn't look scared of her, either, which was interesting if he knew anything at all about what she was and the things she had done. That made her even more wary. "Let's step inside your room here and talk. We don't want anyone to disturb us, do we?"

She nodded in agreement.

"No, no. We don't want that." He made a gesture for her to precede him into the room, and she stepped past him, turning to keep the corner of her eye on him the whole time.

It almost wasn't enough. Just as she went through the doorway, his right hand darted forward, holding something she hadn't seen until that instant. Whatever it was, he had produced it from his sleeve, and was using it like a weapon. Faith spun back and into him, using her left forearm to block the little shiny cylinder away from her side, where it had been about to strike home. That left them face-to-face, too close for her power moves, so she grabbed at his wrist. She managed to capture it, and grinned with triumph as she squeezed.

He ignored her, using his left foot to sweep her legs out from under her, grabbing her shoulder with his free hand and pivoting her as she fell. She landed flat on her back, and an instant later his knee was planted firmly in her stomach, driving the breath from her lungs. She still had a hold of his wrist, but her grip wasn't exactly grinding his bones to powder like she had intended. She was used to taking advantage of her full strength in a fight, and right now she wasn't even close. In fact, his right arm was proving stronger than her left. He was slowly pushing the little device towards her throat, despite all she could do.

"Sorry, girl." His voice shook slightly with the effort of what he was doing, but his face was calm. "Nothing personal; but we can't have you running around. Time for another nap."

Her right hand was fumbling at him, clawing and tearing at his chest and stomach in an attempt to hurt him. It wasn't working; he was wearing some kind of light body armor under those expensive clothes, and she couldn't get enough leverage for a bare hand strike that would do injury. She arched her back, lunging up with all her might, trying to throw him off of her, but he kept his grip on her shoulder, and used his greater weight to force the hand with the device closer to her. It was some kind of auto-syringe; she could see the bore of the recessed needle now. It was only inches away, and she wasn't going to be able to stop him. If only she had a weapon; a knife, a club, anything.

Even a gun; yeah, a gun would work fine. His tailored jacket was hanging open, showing her a bit of the shoulder holster he wore on his left side. She reached up and grabbed the butt of the pistol there, yanking it free just as he realized what she was doing. He grabbed at her arm with his left hand, and an instant later he had dropped the syringe and was using both hands to try and control where she pointed the gun. She had to admire his priorities; no use in injecting her if a second later she blew his head off, right?

She was free to use both hands now too, but she couldn't quite manage to bring the weapon in line with any part of his body. The safety clicked off, so that was a step in the right direction, but right after that her hands (and the gun) were forced up over her head and down onto the floor. James don't-call-me-Bond was one strong guy, and a surprisingly good fighter. He had made a mistake in pinning the gun, though. He'd shifted too much of his weight onto their hands; his center of mass was over her shoulders now, which left her with a way out. Maybe.

Her legs were free, so she reached out and hooked her ankles around the frame of her hospital bed. As he was concentrating on prying the gun out of her hands, she flexed her legs as explosively as she could, pulling herself halfway out from under him. Only halfway, though, and he was on the verge of getting the gun back. Snarling with the effort, she twisted and writhed, managing to roll onto her stomach, though she still couldn't get her hands away from him. He was straining to keep hold of her, though, maybe even breathing hard. She had to get up; in a wrestling contest the bigger and stronger person was usually going to win. He tore one of her hands away from the gun, and she knew she was in trouble. With a desperate surge she came up onto her knees. She had to get away from him before-

He hammered his elbow down into the center of her back, sending a searing bolt of agony and white noise up and down her spine and dropping her instantly to the floor. He took the gun from her momentarily strengthless fingers, and stood. She rolled frantically, fully aware that it was not going to be enough. He was going to shoot her, shoot her dead and there just wasn't enough time or a place to take cover before he... didn't shoot. She came up slowly, tossing her head to get her still-damp hair out of her eyes, and he was on the other side of the room with the gun, just standing there. Watching her.

"Well? Are you gonna kill me or what?"

He shook his head.

"I'm not here to kill you. If we wanted you dead you wouldn't be standing here and talking to me. I meant what I said: We can't have you walking around. If you're not locked up at our headquarters in England, then you have to be kept under control by some other means."

Goddamned Watcher freaks. Why couldn't they just leave her alone?

"'Some other means' means drugged stupid, right?"

"In a word; yes." He trained the gun on her stomach. "The injector is lying on the floor behind you. Pick it up and press it against your arm."

She laughed, she couldn't help herself."

"Fuck you. Why don't you come over here and do it yourself?" She batted her eyelashes at him. "What's the matter, are you scared?" He lowered the gun and she tensed as she realized he was about to kneecap her. "Hold on there, spy-guy. Think it through." Talk fast Faith, you won't be doing much running tomorrow if you have to grow a new pair of knees first. "Even if you shoot me, I'm still going to fight you. I doubt you'll get that stuff into me before a bunch of hospital people show up, wondering what's going on." He was watching her, considering her words. Most importantly, he hadn't shot her yet. "I'll bet your bosses would just love to see the interview I'll give the local tee-vee people after you fight your way out of here, too. The one where I tell them all about this bunch of rich English guys who tried to kidnap me. Should be good."

He kept that level stare on her for another few seconds, and then lowered the gun. With a quick movement, he stripped the clip out of the weapon and tucked it into his back pocket. The pistol he tossed onto the bed.

"All right then. We'll do it the hard way." He slipped off his jacket, folding it neatly and laying it across the chair beside the door. She blinked as he flowed into a stance and waited. Well, okay then. So long as he wasn't willing to hurt her and she could hurt him, this seemed like an excellent way to go. She shook out her arms and twisted her upper body first one way, then the other. The shot to her spine didn't seem to have done any permanent harm; everything was working, more or less. She moved forward, her hands curling into fists. Her lips curled up slightly and she put as much sneer into her voice as possible.

"C'mon then. Show me what you've got."

She leapt at him.

* * * * *

Obviously, there was a lot of room in James's mind between 'not killing her' and 'not hurting her'. Because he wasted no time in hurting her quite a lot. She hadn't even gotten close enough to try a kick or a punch when he shuffled forward in an oddly balanced and graceful way, then whipped one foot up and across her face, hurling her into the wall. She bounced off and came right back at him, and this time he waited for her. When she fired a fist at his jaw, he used one hand to divert it past his head, and jabbed the stiffened fingers of the other into the center of her chest, into the hollow just below her sternum. Wheezing for breath, she staggered back.

All right. She was used to fighting people (and things) that had the reach on her. What she wasn't used to was fighting someone who was both stronger and faster than she was. She had to admit it; she was way off her game. If she couldn't find a higher gear in the next minute or so, this man, this human being, was going to wipe the floor with her. She found her balance, glaring at him as he stood there, waiting for her. She moved forward again.

Feints this time, little jabs and kicks that she could do without giving him much of an opportunity to land a solid shot. Whatever fighting style he was using, he was good at it. That was the problem with being a Slayer: you were so strong and fast that you really didn't need to learn good technique. If someone tried to teach you how to fight, you could kick the shit out of them as proof that you didn't need to learn. (Which was why so many vampires did flashy spin-kicks and stuff. Their supernatural abilities let them mimic the things they had seen in martial-arts movies. Which was fine, except without the training, they didn't know how to put the moves together in an effective way.) Now Faith was faced with someone who was a better fighter than she was, without the edges that would ordinarily have let her win.

James was countering her probes with blocks and deflections; tight, circular movements that diverted the force of her blows without trying to stop them. He used his superior speed to sneak in a solid blow to her side, just under her ribs. She staggered away, slapping away the follow-up kick that would have taken her in the jaw. She was hurting, and that was no fun, but she had the strangest feeling.... She was enjoying herself. She had been laying there, helpless, for so long, that even a fight she was losing was something that felt (in some odd way) good.

Go figure.

Her sudden grin seemed to catch the Council thug by surprise, but that didn't affect his reflexes any. When she came back at him he was ready; her kick missed cleanly, in a single smooth movement he was underneath her attack and then right in her face, driving iron-hard fists into her stomach, one after the other. She managed to block one, and he took the opportunity to grab hold of her arm and pivot, driving his elbow back into her side. She half-expected to feel ribs crack, but either she was tougher than that or he was trying to go easy on her. Maybe a little of both. He finished off his combination with a vicious backhand across the face that sent her spinning to the floor. She knelt there, stunned, as he stepped past her. He was going for the injector. She shook her head, fighting to clear it.

No. No way was she going to lose. She hurt, but she'd been hurt hundreds of times before; thousands if you counted the times when she was a little girl. She could deal with it; ignoring pain was the first thing she had ever learned. Pain told you that you were still alive, that you could still fight.

She fought now, reaching out to grab hold of his shin, sliding on the slick floor so that she was lying on her back, driving her foot up and into his groin with all of her strength. He managed to half-turn; half-block the blow with his hands, but the impact still lifted him off of his feet and sent him stumbling backwards. She came up and went after him, and her fury was a fire that was growing hotter and brighter with every passing second.

He was still on his feet; the body armor he wore included some crotch protection, but even so he looked just a bit unsteady. He ducked away from her roundhouse swing, punching her in the back when she overextended and presented him with an opening. She tried to backhand him on the recovery, but he caught her arm with both hands, shifting his grip in preparation to break it across his knee.

So much for not damaging the goods.

She threw herself on top of him before he could do it, which both staggered him and let her tear her captive arm free. He grabbed her by the hair and used it to hurl her off of him, sending her several feet back before she could get her feet under her again. He was looking seriously pissed, now, and that made her smile with vicious joy.

"Oh baby. I like the way you play." She could feel her heart pounding, now, her blood pumping. She was waking up, coming alive; and she wanted more. "Come on. We're just getting started." She went at him, and this time he threw himself forward with a yell, using everything he had. He snapped kicks into her, too fast to avoid, too strong to block. He delivered twisting, snapping punches that lifted her off the ground and threw her back, doubled over. He drove her across the room, dealing out enough punishment in those moments to destroy any man, anything human. When she reached the wall, he grabbed both of her wrists, holding them and pinning her against the wall with his hip to keep her from kneeing him.

"Stop it! Stop fighting me!" His voice was rough, desperate. "I don't want to kill you, Faith." Poor boy, he must not like beating up on girls. Or maybe his bosses wouldn't like it if he came back with a corpse. That was the last thing he needed to worry about. She shook her hair back and looked up at him, watching his eyes widen as he noticed the absence of bruises on her face, the bleeding from her nose that stopped even as he watched. Suddenly, she stretched up and landed a kiss right on his lips. Smiling at his shocked expression, she whispered.

"More."

He pulled away, out of repulsion or reflex, and she twisted free. She attacked now, and it seemed like the more she fought, the longer things went on, the faster and more fluid the moves came. The rust was being blown off, and it was feeling more and more natural with every passing moment. She felt her smile turn into a snarl as one of her punches got through his defense, rocking his head back.

"Nobody. I'm the Slayer and you're nobody!" He gave her a punch to the face in return, but she took it and kept right on coming. That seemed to disconcert him a bit. Her body moved in wild, unpredictable bursts of motion, and his carefully structured fighting style was becoming less and less effective. She drove her hands at him, spun, kicked, and punched again. If he was still stronger than she was, it wasn't doing him much good. Her fists pounded into him, and even though he was still landing as many solid hits as she was, his didn't seem to faze her at all, while hers were battering him mercilessly. With a look of desperation in his eyes, he threw himself across the bed and towards the door. She bounded after him, taking him from behind just as he reached the doorway.

"No!" She hurled him back into the room, and he skidded across the floor on his butt before clambering painfully to his feet. She smoothed her tangled hair back with her hands, giving him a hungry smile. "No way you get me all revved up and then leave me hanging." She stalked forward.

James looked scared now.

"What's the matter? You didn't believe all those stories about the Slayers?" Man, she had missed this. Nothing felt better than kicking the shit of out somebody; scaring the shit out of them. It made her feel good, powerful. Well, there was one thing that felt better, but first things first. He reached behind his back and pulled free a knife, a long, narrow blade about ten inches long. She faltered for an instant; flashing back to the last time she had faced someone with a knife.

She forced herself to smile.

"Ooh, knives. I like knives." She moved forward warily. She could take him; it had been Buffy who had stabbed her, beaten her, not this guy. He was just a human being, a nobody. He didn't have what it took to kill her. No way. And if he did? Well, then she would just as soon let him do it and put her out of her misery.

He lashed out at her, wide sweeping cuts that kept her at bay. He knew what he was doing with a blade, too. A well-rounded guy, this James. She was back in the groove now, though. She didn't try to think about what she was doing, she just kept her focus and let her body move. She knew what to do, and so long as her brain didn't get in the way, she was fast enough to take him. The old anger was still moving through her like a living thing, coiling in her middle, sliding down her arms and legs, making her strong. She looked at this thing that thought he could take her, put that knife into her belly, and the hate she felt for him made hell seem like a cold and pleasant place.

She didn't even realize she had made her move until she had done it. Sliding forward just behind one of his swings, turning inside the reach of his arms, taking his knife hand in both of hers and turning it, twisting it until his fingers spasmed and the warm handle dropped into her palm. He instantly tried to reclaim it, grappling with her, trying to use his size and mass to bear her down to the ground. She remembered how their first wrestling encounter had gone; no need to try it again. She needed some way to distract him, divert him.

Putting the blade deep into his chest seemed like a good way of doing that, so that's what she did.

James gasped, a priceless look of surprise making him look sort of comical. She twisted the knife, to get maximum effect. That Kevlar or whatever didn't seem to work so good against sharp things. One reason why she never wore the stuff. He sagged, and she eased him down, drawing the knife out of him along the way. The scent of the blood, the sight of it as it dripped down the steel, it finished what the fight had started. She felt her body come alive, an ache she'd not felt in far too long suddenly growing inside her. The man had ended up in a sitting pose, propped up against the wall. She pushed him flat onto the floor, and then lowered herself on top of him.

"James? That was great, but are you up for some more? Who knows? If you're nice to me, I might let you live. How about it?"

She whispered the words as her lips moved over his battered face, her tongue darting out to taste the blood flowing from a cut beside his eye. The knife was in her right hand, laying flat against his chest, her other hand was busy with the fastening of his pants.

He wasn't dead or anything; unlike her sister Slayer she wasn't into boinking the dead. One stab wound didn't kill somebody, not that fast, and not unless you hit the heart or an artery. Sometimes not even then. One thing it did do was take the fight out of someone. Well, usually. James recovered enough to lash out at her while she was distracted, the hard edge of his hand striking her throat a glancing blow. She bared her teeth in fury; that crap hurt! The exertion, the pain, the blood and now the need for sex were all combining to make her a little crazy, and his resistance pushed the wrong button at the wrong moment. With a strangled scream of rage, she raised the knife and plunged it down into him. The Kevlar managed to blunt the force this time, and the blade stopped about halfway through. To her mind, that was just one more thing that was thwarting her, and she went into a frenzy of stabbing, driving the weapon down with all her strength, over and over. He jerked and fought, but after the twentieth time or so he finally went limp. It was another full minute before she slowed and then stopped, and by that time his face was no longer recognizable. She knelt there atop him, shuddering in release. Spraying blood had streaked her face, and she licked some of it away, leaning back to take a deep breath. She felt good. Alive. Better than she had in months, actually.

"Whoof." Looking down at the man's body, she grinned. "Well, James. That's not my favorite way to get off, but it doesn't suck, either." Something was tugging at her attention, and she cocked her head, wondering what it was. Ragged breathing, coming from behind her...? She turned her head to look.

Kira stood in the doorway, her eyes as wide and staring as those of the corpse underneath her. The little girl was as pale as a sheet, and her lower lip was trembling as if she were on the verge of tears. Faith felt frozen in place; suddenly more frightened than she had been at any point during the fight.

"Kira?" She wiped her face with her hand, smearing the blood there without really getting any of it to come off. She swung herself around until she was off of the body and kneeling on the floor. Kneeling in the spreading pool of blood that was leaking from the dead man. The girl's eyes were locked on her other hand, and she realized that she was still holding the knife. Moving slowly, carefully, she set it down on the floor. "Kira, it's okay." Those eyes flicked to hers, and she swallowed at the raw terror she saw there. "This was a bad guy. He wanted to hurt me, so I had to kill him. Understand?" Fuck, how long had she been standing there, watching? Faith slid forward a little, still on her knees, and reached out with one hand. "Come here. I'll explain it to you, and then we can figure out what we're gonna do. Everything's going to be all right."

The girl took a step back, then another, shaking her head back and forth without a word. Faith eased forward a little more, trying to think of what to say to calm her down. She never had the chance; the girl gave her a final look, tears spilling from her eyes and down her face, then she whirled and ran. Faith could hear her footsteps as she ran down the hall towards the nurses, her own room. She knelt there, in the blood, and stared at the empty doorway for what felt like an eternity.

"Kira? Everything.... Everything is going to be all right."

* * * * *


End file.
